


Barry Allen's Adventures In Bed

by Blossomdail



Series: Barry’s Adventures (Growing as a Person) [1]
Category: DCU, Justice League (2017), Justice League - All Media Types
Genre: Bisexual Barry Allen, F/M, M/M, Multi, Post-Justice League (2017), Sex, Sex Stuff, There is blow jobs and anal sex, and things like creative alien biology, barry sleeps with his whole teammates, basically barry is a little baby hoe, i'm sure - Freeform, idk man it's not like they're all fucking each other just barry, like i'm sure there'll be other characters, um, yes that's a good tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-03-14 14:10:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13591719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blossomdail/pseuds/Blossomdail
Summary: Or, the one where Barry has sex with all his teammates (all of them) and it comes back to bite him in the ass. Really, it was an accident. So he says. It's not like he seduced any of them, if anything, they seduced him, okay.





	1. Bruce

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, what's up, so like, I'm sorry, really there's no excuse for this.

The Bug Man, as Barry has named it, was starting to piss him the fuck off. Not because the Bug Man was necessarily hard to beat, but he was gross. Barry hated bugs, first and foremost, as well as being scared of most. Lady bugs and rolly pollies? Not an issue! 

But is the Bug Man shooting ladybugs and butterflies from his body? Of course not! That’d be too easy! He's made of spiders and centipedes and takes joy of hearing Barry scream everything he shoots them at Barry. 

At this point, Barry might as well stay behind Bruce. He’s useless otherwise.

“How you holding up, kid?” Bruce asks as Arthur sends ocean water over the Bug Man, spraying the 60 ft tall thing in water. 

How was he holding up? That was a joke, right? Wasn’t Bruce there when Barry was mentioning everything he was afraid of, which included bugs? (And swimming!) He can’t do disgusting bugs, he just can’t, so it’d make perfect sense for a giant made of literal bugs to start attacking a public park. How fucking cliched, too. 

God, Barry was so not okay. Bugs just freaked him out too much. Why couldn’t he be the Butterfly Man? Or-or-or the Hot Dog Guy? Anything but bugs, anything but bugs!

“Um, I’m kinda struggling,” Barry yells, squealing as the Bug Man shoots a hurricane of bugs at him. Barry dodges, of course, but screams while doing so and runs to duck behind Bruce. Again.

The beginning of a panic attack starts to take over him, which is not good, not very good, not very good at all, but it’s bugs, it’s fucking bugs and Barry can’t- he can’t- Oh no, not here, not now?

“Kid?” Bruce asks, but Barry’s shaking, vibrating up and down, up and down, bugs, bugs everywhere-

And then they’re gone.

A blast by Clark has the Bug Man exploding, thousands of thousands of dead bugs flying everywhere. It’s gross, but the bugs are dead so he can’t piece himself together. Clean up will be disgusting, but it’s over, it’s all over. 

“Breathe, kid,” Bruce whispers into his ear. 

Bruce. Batman. Right. 

Bruce grabs Barry’s hand and the warmness spreads over Barry, head to toes, head to toes. 

“It’s over, kid. You did great.”

By the time the rest of his teammates are back on the ground, Barry has stopped vibrating up and down, but he still looks a little green. 

“Why don’t we get cleaned up?” Bruce suggests.

It’s so unlike them to all go back to Bruce’s place after a battle. Usually they all go their separate ways, but no way Clark wants to go back to Louis covered in bugs and bugs guts, and Arthur wouldn’t ever think to bring that into his ocean. 

There’s an agreement mumbled from their team and as they start to walk towards Bruce’s batmobile, Barry can’t help but ask, “Hey, Victor, do you shower? Or would the water mess up your wiring? Or are you waterproof? Do you just use baby wipes? I-”

“Man, shut up,” Victor tells him, and Barry smiles, run pasts everyone and calls, “Shotgun!”

“There’s some guest rooms down the hall to your left.” Bruce points with his hand and the others turn to go. Barry starts to follow but Bruce calls back, “Barry.”

Barry stops, turns back, head cocked in confusion? Was Bruce going to ask him what happened out on the field? Because really, it was a one time thing, really, Barry can handle himself, he’s not a baby and it won’t happen again-

“There’s only four guest bedroom’s down that way. You can take the red room on the right wing.” He starts to point.

Relief watches through Barry. He sighs in relief and zooms off, checking out the room before bouncing back right as Bruce lowers his hand. 

Barry will never get over the fact that Barry gets his own personal guest room. Or the fact that Bruce is rich enough to afford all his guests their own guest rooms. 

Bruce blinks. “Uh, let me know if you need anything.” 

“This is cool! Thank you so much, I really appreciate it, especially since the heat’s been off for like, two months but I use so much heat running anyway so it’s like-”

“Barry.” 

“Uh-huh, yeah Bruce?”

“Take a shower. You stink.” 

Barry does finger guns at him before running to the guest room that’s the coolest. And probably met for a teenager or a young kid, which is why Bruce probably left it for Barry, but Barry doesn’t mind. It’s fucking cool.

The walls are a red instead of a boring white, the bed is pushed against a corner instead of in the middle, there’s a TV on the wall with like, three game consoles hooked up, the laundry basket has a basketball hoop that’s attached to a closet door, and the bed is only a twin. It’s a cool, decked out room, but it makes him feel a little bit weird. 

Was this intended for a child? It can’t be, because the bed is perfectly made and doesn’t look like it has ever been slept in, and those game consoles are shiny and brand new. It’s a cool room, but it looks like nobody’s been in here.

Barry doesn’t put much more thought into it before he ducks into the adjoining bathroom. He chucks his clothes and notices another basketball hoop attached to the inside of the bathroom door. He kind of gets a great joy out of tossing them in.

Then he hops into the shower and works on getting the bug juices out of . . . everything.  
\---

When he’s done, he notices an issue. There’s nothing for him to change into. His hair is dripping wet, and the towel wrapped around his lower half does nothing to protect him against the cold air. But he can’t put his suit back on. It’s not comfortable to sleep in, and it’s covered in bug juices anyway. 

Maybe there’s something in the closest, he supposes, so he steps out of the bathroom and nearly screams when he’s sees Bruce sitting on the bed. 

“What-jesus fuck-Bruce!”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Bruce deadpans. 

Barry glares him a few more seconds before his grins breaks out. Something about Bruce always makes him smile and he really can’t help it. Bruce is just so amazing, and he could never actually be mad at him. 

“Not a problem, no really, you just scared me, to what do I owe this pleasure?” Barry always feels like his adrenaline goes into hyper drive when he nears Bruce, and right now he just wants to run around the room to let go of some energy. 

Bruce pulls a stack of clothes from behind him and presents them to Barry. “Pajamas for tonight and clothes for tomorrow.”

“Hey, thanks! Really, I didn’t want to sleep naked but my suit is absolutely disgusting and I don't have any other clothes.”

Bruce gives him a patient smile. “I figured. That’s why I brought them. I’ll take the suit though, Alfred will watch it for you.” 

Barry smiles and walks back into the bathroom to grab the disgusting suit. He holds it out to Bruce. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Have a nice night. Let me know if you need anything, I’m right next door.”

Bruce gets up and walks away but Barry stops him. “Hey Bruce?”

Bruce turns. “Yes, Barry?”

Barry bites his lip, debating. All the others are in the west wing, but Barry and Bruce are in the right wing. Why though? It doesn’t feel right to ask, but he’s dying to know . . . 

“Um, just out of curiosity, why are all the other rooms in the other wing, but not this one?”

He knows he shouldn’t have asked the minute a dark expression crosses Bruce’s face. He wants to take it back, wants to slap himself for always talking without speaking, what’s wrong with him, why does he always-

“It’s not a guest room,” Bruce says after a moment. 

Oh. But then what was it? It looks like a kids room if he’s being honest, but Bruce doesn’t have any kids.

“But-”

“You should dress before you get a cold,” Bruce says, then promptly leaves the room.

Okayyyy, note taken. Not a topic that needs to be discussed, apparently. Barry’s never been one to dwell on personal matters. He shrugs and chucks on the pajama bottoms. He always feels constricted by having a shift, but he gets too cold without bottoms. They’re a bit big on him but they’re fleece and feels warm against his skin. 

He sighs in pleasure, and turns off the light before diving into bed. He's so warm and so tired and he hadn’t realize how tired he was from the fight, that disgusting, nasty fight and he was soooo cozy . . . 

It feels like he’s only got ten minutes of sleep before he’s shooting up in bed. He looks around, trying to find what suddenly jerked him away when he hears it again: a scream, not necessarily loud but enough to hear it from next door. 

Bruce.

Barry is out of bed and into Bruce’s room in less than a microsecond. Another time, Barry would marvel at Bruce’s gigantic room and the fact that his bed is bigger than Barry’s apartment, but then he sees Bruce, twisting and turning, face contorted. 

The bed is in front of a gigantic wall of window, and the moon is shining straight onto Bruce’s chest.

“Bruce?” Barry whispers hesitantly.

Bruce justs murmurs in his sleep and twists over. Barry’s no stranger to nightmares, he has plenty himself, but he remembers how alone he always feels during them, or when he wakes up in his hideout and he’s alone with no one to comfort him.

Before he knows it, he’s shaking Bruce awake. Bruce gasps and sits up, nearly smacking his head on Barry’s forehead. 

“What-Barry? I-What?” Bruce is confused, rightfully so, and Barry regrets his decisions instantly. What was he thinking? He totally just invaded Bruce’s private space and this was wrong, so wrong-

“Barry?” Bruce asks again, and rubs his eyes, letting the blanket fall and rest around his lap. 

Barry frowns. “I’m sorry, I heard you screaming, and I was confused and I just-well, I know what’s it’s like, nightmares I mean, and I hate being alone so I figured you hate being alone but that was probably wrong so-”

“Barry, it’s okay.” 

Barry stops talking, wishing for just once he can glue his fucking mouth shut. Bruce is staring at him and thankfully he doesn’t look mad, just . . . there’s something Barry can’t quite place. 

“I’m sorry,” Barry says again. 

“Don’t be. I’m sorry I woke you.” 

Barry bites his lips and balances on his toes. He’s not sure if he should leave or stay. Probably leave. He already intruded enough.

“It was my son’s room.” 

And that was very unexpected. “What?” Barry asks dumbly. 

“Your room You asked me why this room was next to mine while the others were in the other wing. It was my son’s room.” 

“I-I,” Barry stutters. He scratches his head, then blinks some more. “I didn’t know-”

Bruce sighs and gets up from the bed, revealing plaid pajama bottoms. He sits at the end and pats the spot next to him, indicating Barry should sit next to him. 

Barry plops down, feeling weird. Not only did he intrude on Bruce’s personal space, he’s now apparently having a heart to heart with him, too. It just feels very weird and awkward and he should have-

“My son died years ago by the Joker’s hand.” 

A cold shock runs through Barry. He didn’t even knew Bruce had a son. And now his son his dead? But not just dead, murdered by the Joker of all people. “Oh.” What was Barry supposed to say to that? “I’m sorry . . .” That’s not right but he just doesn’t know what else to say . . . 

Bruce waves him off. “It was years ago. But I do miss him. I was just relieving a memory.” 

And Barry can’t relate to losing a son, but he can relate to memories so he wraps his arms around Bruce on instinct and then freezes. 

In that moment it’s just Bruce and Barry in an awkward side hug. Barry can hear his heart pounding and knows Bruce can hear it. 

They pull apart and Bruce smiles, a sad half smile that has Barry’s stomach lurching. Suddenly he feels a million emotions at once, something about the way the moon shines on Bruce’s chest, the way his eyes are so bright. 

He never considered Bruce as anything but a mentor, as somebody to look up to, a hero, but now-

“It was very nice of you, Barry, to come check on me.”

The way Barry’s name rolls of Bruce’s tongue sends shivers down Barry’s body. It feels like everything is on hyper alert. He can see everything, the moon, the specks on Bruce’s windows, the tiles, the dents in the nightstand. 

He can feel his heart beating rapidly out of his chest. 

He really has no idea what’s going on. 

“It’s no big, uh, deal,” Barry stutters. He’s holding eye contact with Bruce, and he feels like he just might throw up. 

“I appreciate it. It’s been awhile since anyone’s checked up on me.” 

Oh god, why are they still holding eye contact? Barry’s stomach is in knots and he feels like something is going to explode. He needs to run but he needs to stay where he is, too. It’s like something in him are going to explode. 

“I just didn’t want you to be hurt and I think you’d do the same for me and I’m sorry if I crossed your boundaries and-” 

Bruce’s lips are on Barry’s, and for once in his life, Barry shuts up. 

Bruce Wayne is kissing me, Barry thinks. 

Then: Why the fuck aren’t I kissing him back?!

So Barry stops thinking and just does. He slants his lips back over Bruce, tasting mint toothpaste and something that is just Bruce. 

He sighs into Bruce’s mouth, can feel Bruce smiles into the kiss, then suddenly Barry is being pressed back onto the bed. His head nearly misses the headboard, but he doesn’t care, how can he when Bruce, Bruce, fucking Bruce is pressing into him, and they’re both just wearing plaid pajamas pants.

What is happening?!

They break apart, Bruce with a look and Barry with a gasp. If he thought he needed to run before, now he really needed to. He feels like he was vibrating up and down. 

“Is this okay?” Bruce murmurs and what even was this? 

Obviously it’s more than just a kiss, or Bruce wouldn’t have pushed Barry against the bed. But is it okay? 

Yeah. Yeah definitely. He can’t say he always wanted this necessarily, but Bruce is a great kisser, and Barry is hard already. (And a small part of him knows Bruce needs this, whatever this was, and Barry loves Bruce, maybe not as anything but a mentor figure, not yet anyway, but he does love Bruce in a way and he can do this for Bruce, he wants Bruce, too-)

“Barry.”

Barry groans and leans up to kiss Bruce again. Bruce’s tongue presses against his lips as his hands are all over Barry. His arms, his legs, his stomach. It’s hot and Barry’s head starts to spin in it all. 

He’s so hard . . . 

Brue breaks the kiss to ground his body into Barry. They both groan. Bruce kisses down Barry’s neck, sending jolts of pleasure down into his body. 

“Bruce,” Barry groans. “Please, I-” 

“I got you, I got you.” Bruce kisses Barry again and grips Barry’s thigh. His fingers press into Barry’s skin, hard enough that there’s going to be imprints and that’s so fucking hot. 

“Shh,” Bruce says again, into Barry’s ear, causing goosebumps to rise on Barry’s skin. “I got you, baby boy.” 

Maybe there’s some deeper meaning to this, like say, Bruce using Barry to distract from the loss of his son but by babing Barry he gets to, in some way, be a nurturer and a caregiver again. 

Listen, Barry does not have a daddy kink, okay? But there’s something about being called baby boy that makes him arch into Bruce’s touch and he’s not going to call him daddy okay? 

“Is that okay? Is-” 

“Yes,” Barry calls it again. “Can you, um, can you-” Bruce’s fingers are pressing into his thighs while his other hand is suddenly swiping back Barry’s hair from his face. “Please-” 

“Yeah? Baby boy? That’s what you want?” 

Bruce’s fingers finally dip into Barry’s boxers, finally gets his hands onto Barry’s dick. 

It’s good, soooo goodddd, and Barry can’t help the long moan that leaves his lips. Bruce’s moving his hand up and down and it’s good, but Barry wants more, and he’s not going to last longer if Bruce continues. 

“Please,” Barry gasps, arching into his touch. “Can you, will you. I mean-”

“Use your words.” Bruce runs his fingers up and down Barry, and Barry moans again but bites his lip. 

“Fuck me,” Barry pleads, feels Bruce hand’s stop against his skin.

For the first time since they started this, Bruce looks unsure. 

And oh no, Barry just fucked this all up. He should have just let the handjob continue, that would have been enough, it was Bruce-

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes, absolutely yes, please-”

“Barry-”

 

“Please.” The please sounds broken even to his own ears. He wants this more than anything suddenly. 

“Okay. Okay we can do that.” 

Bruce places a soft kiss against Barry. Then he reaches over Bruce for the nightstand, pulls out a bottle of lube and a roll of condoms. “You tell me to stop anytime, okay?”

“Not gonna happen.” 

“Barry. Promise me you’ll tell me to stop if you get too much.”

“Okay, okay, I will, I promise. Bruce, please . . .” 

Their pants aren’t even off but Barry is leaking into his pants and he can feel Bruce, hard himself, pressing into Barry’s side. 

“Okay, okay.” Bruce kisses him again and tugs Barry’s pants down, the waste no times to get out of his own. He chucks them somewhere on the floor. 

The kisses against his neck distract him from the sound of lube being opened. Barry breath catches in his throat when he feels a covered finger press against his entrance. 

Okay, so, maybe he never done this before. He wasn’t totally a virgin, but a short, two minute romp in high school in the back of the girl’s car didn’t really teach much. So, not technically a virgin, but he’s never done oral, never did anything but straight sex and-

“Woah!” 

Bruce’s finger presses tight into him. All the air in Barry leaves his body. 

“Baby boy?” Bruce whispers. “Are you okay?”

“I- Whooo.” It’s uncomfortable and it sort of hurts but he doesn’t want to stop. “It’s just-tight,” he breathes. 

Bruce nods, presses more kisses against Barry’s neck. “Just take it slow. You’ve done this before, right?”

Barry hesitates. He doesn’t want to lie but he doesn’t want to admit the embarrassing truth, that he didn’t stop to think that he should have thought this through. 

“Barry.” 

“Um, I’ve had sex before,” Barry says, and that’s not a lie, really. The car was cramped, he barely knew the girl, she just asked him to the prom a week ago, and he came so fast that it didn’t even feel like it really was sex.

“With a man?”

“Um. No. But I want this, I so totally do. Please, please.” 

“Shhh.” Bruce doesn’t stop his intrusion, but slows down his finger gently. “I just wish you would have told me so I could have been more careful.” 

Barry shakes his head and arches into Bruce’s touch. “No, it’s good, I promise, please.” The finger in him doesn’t seem like enough suddenly. He needs more.

Bruce kisses him again, and his tongue against Barry’s distracts him from the second finger entering him. It’s a bit tight still but doesn’t hurt so much anymore. It starts to feel good, and as Bruce continues to fuck him with his fingers, Barry might come from this alone. 

But he can’t. He needs more. 

“Pl-please.” Barry’s voice comes out breathless. He’s aching and he needs more. 

“You sure?” 

“Yes. Please!” 

“Okay, baby boy. Okay.” 

The “baby boy” has him moaning and gasping, twisting his body down and nearly crying when Bruce’s fingers leave him. 

Then Bruce’s is sliding on the condom and Barry’s too turned on to care about anything else than needing Bruce so he adjusts himself, rests his head on a pillow and shifts his hips so that they press tight against Bruce’s

Bruce moans, feeling his own erection press into Barry’s. “If you don't like it, tell me to stop, okay?” 

“Yes, yes, Bruce, please!” 

Bruce tangles their fingers together and laces them on the pillow above Barry’s head. “Breathe. Okay, take a deep breath.” He waits for Barry to take a deep breath before he pushes in. 

Barry can see why he needed the deep breath, because it all comes rushing out in a big gasp. Bruce doesn’t move, just lets Barry get accustomed to him. It’s not bad but it’s not good, and Barry can feel his toes curl in pain. He’s glad his fingers are tight in Bruce’s because he squeezes them, his nails pressing into Bruce’s hand. 

“Baby boy? Okay?” 

Barry breaths out again and shifts his hips. It causes a small ripple of pleasure against him. “Okay. I just need a minute. Please.” 

Bruce is patient, even as Barry keeps shifting his hips in a way that can’t be easy for Bruce. It crosses Barry’s mind, briefly, that Bruce has done this before, has had sex with at least one other man before but it doesn’t matter, not right now, because soon the pain leaves and Bruce can fuck Barry into the mattress in earnest.

Barry makes these little grunts and moans that drives Bruce wild. Bruce breaks their hands apart to run them up and down Barry’s body, causing shivers to break out, and Barry can’t help but vibrate as the pleasure increases.

“Fuck,” Bruce hisses. “Baby, are you vibrating?” 

“Can’t help it,” Barry gasps, then gets the urge to throw his leg over Bruce’s shoulder so he does and he was right, because the angle is so much better and he starts to vibrate faster, running in place because he can’t run now. 

The feel of Bruce against him, the grunts Bruce makes, Bruce’s cock inside him, it’s too much, too much, and Bruce is pressing against Barry in just the right spot that makes Barry sees stars. 

He moans, just once, and Bruce wraps a hand around Barry’s cock. His thrusts are becoming uneven, and Barry knows that they both won’t last much longer. 

Then Bruce jerks Barry off, once, twice, and that’s it, combined with a thrust from Bruce, Barry explodes, the vibrating, the thrusts, the jerks, it’s all so good, so fucking good, and Barry whines loudly, ejaculating onto his stomach and Bruce’s chest. 

Bruce follows right after, the clenching around his cock being too much, and he gasps and pushes Barry down onto the bed by his shoulders.

They just breathe together, and it’s good. Barry feels protected and loved and the orgasm was great but this feeling? He could live in it. He doesn’t protest when Bruce finally slides out and tosses the condom, but he misses the warmth immediately. 

“Oh, shit,” Bruce murmurs and oh no, no no no, Barry doesn’t want Bruce ton regret it, to jump into the “we shouldn’t have done this” thing.

“Let’s just sleep,” Barry says, because that’s better than having to get up, get dressed, and having to go to sleep alone. After doing what they just did, it’d kill him.

It’s so unlike Bruce to stay, but he can’t hurt Barry’s feelings, he cares for Barry to much for that but they just made a mistake-but no, Barry isn’t a mistake, Barry could never be a mistake no matter what. 

So he sighs, runs a fingers through his hair, and nods. “Just for tonight though. We should talk about this in the morning."

Barry has every intention of absolutely not doing that, but it doesn’t matter, because the next morning he wakes up in Bruce’s giant bed alone.


	2. Diana

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce, Diana, what's next? He's really messing things up.

Things don’t get exactly awkward with Bruce but they aren’t where Barry wants them to be. It’s not like he thought Bruce and him would suddenly be a couple nor did he want Bruce and him to suddenly be a couple because he’s still not sure if he slept with Bruce because Bruce needed it or if he slept with Bruce because he loves Bruce. 

Love being a real world changer, because you can sleep with somebody you don’t love and don’t get Barry wrong he definitely wanted to have sex with Bruce, but did he want to have sex with Bruce because he loves Bruce or because he was horny or because he felt like he wanted to help Bruce with whatever obvious problems he had that he doesn’t ever want to talk about?

Barry sighs and presses the cold can of coke against his foreheads. He shuts the fridge door and lifts the tab of the coke open. For once, he has nothing to do. It’s his day off from work, and there’s not League business at all. He knows this because he hacked into police scanners three times. Nothing. And it’s the middle of the day so nobody’s going to be robbing anyone into the alley until at least four more hours. 

And he can’t go to Bruce’s because it’s been five days and he hasn’t talked to Bruce once. Not once. He wants to talk to Bruce but at the same time he doesn’t because it’s complicated and Barry doesn’t do complicated, really, he doesn’t, he’s a simple man. 

Barry sighs and drowns the coke in one go. Maybe he should talk to his dad. But it’s not a visiting day and Barry would have to wait two more days before he can dish the situation onto his dad. 

There was absolutely nothing to do. 

Except . . . 

Barry doesn’t have any friends, not really, he has his coworkers from the lab, and the team. Most of his coworkers will be working and the ones that aren’t won’t want to do anything with him anyway, because like always, Barry is the baby. The baby of the League and at work and everywhere. 

That leads the League, but Bruce is out. Arthur? He’s in the deep atlantic blue. Diana? Who knows, probably somewhere in France maybe. She might have a place closer to the League but Barry doesn’t know. 

Clark? They aren't even that close and he’s probably doing something with Lois or off being Superman. 

Victor! 

Barry smirks and drops into his bean bag chair that he outgrew about five years ago. Then he opens his phone and shoots his text. 

“Hey.” 

There. That’s simple enough. 

Barry waits two minutes, exactly 120 seconds, before getting impatient. 

He shoots his second text. “What’s up?” 

He waits all of another two minutes before getting impatient again. Does nobody know how to text these days?

Well, there goes Victor. Barry groans, actually groans out loud and is ready to chuck his phone and surf through his Hulu (because it’s cheaper than Netflix and he can get most shows illegally anyway) maybe catch another season of America’s Next Top Model, (which is a good show, don’t judge) when his phone rings. 

But it’s not Victor. It’s Bruce. 

Barry thinks about ignoring it, but he can’t, he can’t, because he doesn’t want to talk and yet he does, because Bruce called him “baby boy” and Barry liked it and maybe Bruce has problems but so does Barry and-

The phone keeps ringing and Barry sighs and answers the phone in the most upbeat tone he can fake. “Helloooooo?” 

“Barry, League meeting in 50. You need a ride?” 

Okay, so it’s professional. That’s good, too. 

“Um, no, I’ll run, it’s fine, see you in 50.” 

“That’s minutes, Barry. Not seconds.” 

“Right, of course.” Barry blinks, pretends to act like he knew that all along despite already having one foot inside his Flash suit. 

“Alright, well, see you soon.” 

“Yep, alright totally. See ya.” They hang up and Barry, already naked except or his foot in his suit, sighs and chucks back on his clothes. He really needs to stop jumping the gun.  
\------  
He’s not the first to arrive to their little hideout, to which he’s thankful because he+Bruce+alone=BAD. Victor and Diana are already there and Barry hops into the seat next to Diana, across from Victor and narrows his eyes. 

“Hey, why didn’t you answer my text, bro?” Barry asks and Victor rolls his eyes. 

“Um,” the cyborg says, in a tone that just practically says, ‘I’m tired of putting up with your shit’ “because you never texted me?”

“Noooooooo,” Barry says, getting out his phone (one doesn’t even want to know where it’s hiding in his suit) and practically shoving it in Victor’s face. “Look.” 

Victor breathes a big sigh and messes around on Barry’s phone for a couple seconds before he’s shoving it back into Barry’s face. Barry sees the contacts, sees Victor’s number under his name. 

“You put my number in wrong, dumbass. It’s supposed to be a 6, not a 9.” 

Diana’s giggle and Bruce’s smirk is all her hears and sees when Arthur flunts in, see’s Barry’s face and asks, “What’s got your panties in a twist?” 

Then he laughs, because Arthur is oh so fucking clever, and pops into his seat and puts his feet up onto the table because Arthur has no fucking manners. 

Barry glares at him and pockets his phone again, crossing his arms and hopes he looks crossed. 

That just makes Arthur laugh more, and Victor joins in. Diana giggles and Barry sulks, sinking and sinking lower into his chair as Bruce tires to hide his smile and they’re all still laughing by the time Clark finally, fucking finally rolls in. 

Fuck them all. 

(He should never have taken that so literally.)

“What’s so funny?” Clark asks. 

“Nothing,” Barry pouts. “They’re just assholes, all of them.”

Bruce finally raises his hands after they’ve all had a good laugh at him and all attention goes to him. He’s the kind of guy who demands respect and it’s obvious why. 

\--  
The meeting lasts three hours and Barry is starving by the time it’s over. He’s about to go raide Bruce’s pantry when a hand on his shoulder stills him. He looks up and into the trusting brown eyes of Diana, and he has to admit, his heart skips a beat. 

Barry kind of always had a crush on Diana if he’s being honest. Not Wonder Woman, but Diana. Diana was sweet and kind, but serious and down to business. She was beautiful too, and her accent drove him nuts. He was kind of sort maybe a tiny bit in love with her if he’s being completely honest. 

“I was wondering if you could help me with something,” she says, and Barry’s eyes widen. 

He stands up a bit straighter, arches his shoulders, and nods seriously. “Yes, whatever you need!” 

The need to bounce on his tons overcome him and he can’t help but to stand on his tip toes in excitement. 

Diana smiles at him, a real smile, not a “I’m tolerating you right now” smile or a “I’m laughing at you because you just stuffed an entire pizza slice into your mouth and I find you disgusting” smile either. A real, actual smile and Barry’s heart flutters. 

“Only, if you feel up to it, of course,” she tells him, and Barry nods, whatever Diana needs, he’d do it.

“Great. Change and let’s go.”

“Um.” Barry scratches his head, hates how awkward he always is. “I didn’t bring any clothes with me. But I can be home and back in a jiffy!” 

Before Diana can protest, he’s already back and changed. In a heartbeat. That’s all it takes. One. Two. Three. Four. Four heartbeats and he’s back, dressed, and probably in love with Diana.

Diana laughs, a full laugh, her head thrown back and long neck showing. He could imagine kissing it. But he’s not going to ever, because he’s Barry and Diana likes big strong brooding guys, not skinny kids who can’t even swim. 

\---

“This isn’t what I was, um, expecting . . .” Barry trails off, looking around at the boxes that are piled into the large apartment. 

Helping Diana move wasn’t exactly what he had in mind, but he said anything, anything at all and this counts as anything. 

“Well, I needed my best teammate, right?” 

She winks at him and picks up a box, and Barry’s heart stops, again, and for a horrible second, he thinks she knows. She has to know that he has a huge crush on her, that he think she’s the most beautiful person in the world world and then some, that she just looks at him and his heart flutters. 

But then she drops the box off into a corner, turns to him, and clasps her hands, dust flying from them. “I could have asked the others, but I don’t need strength and that’s all the others could have offered me. I have my own strength. I need fast.”

“Bruce could have bought actual movers,” Barry jokes, but makes a point to have five boxes moved from the moving van outside and back into her apartment. 

“Maybe.” Diana doesn’t react to him casually using his powers, doesn’t comment on it at all and he likes her a bit more for it. “But I wanted a real experience. This feels better, this way.” 

“Why are you moving anyway? I thought you were happy where you were,” Barry says, absentmindedly picking up a box marked “Books” from the doorway, and bringing it into the living room.

Diana sure had a lot of things. 

“I can’t keep running in between countries,” Diana explains, picking up the kitchen table by it’s leg and plopping it in the middle of the kitchen. “It’s easier this way. I still have my other place though. And my job. I just now have a second life over here, too. I couldn’t leave either worlds.”

She looks him in the eye and holds contact and maybe there’s a deeper meaning to it, but Barry can’t think about it, because there’s probably nothing hidden there and if he got his hopes up for nothing, he’d be crush. 

So he breaks contact and tries to wrangle all the smaller things while leaving Diana the furniture. It really doesn’t take long and Barry can see why Diana wanted him over the others. Sure’s they’re strong, but they aren’t fast. 

But Clark’s fast. And she didn’t choose Clark. So what did that mean? 

That Clark has a fiance to go back to, Barry tells himself, distracted, and nearly stumbles right into Diana. 

“Well, that’s everything!” she says gleefully. She picks up a hand towel, wipes the sweat off her hands, then tosses it onto the table. “Now I just have to unpack everything, but that can wait for tomorrow. You hungry?” 

When is Barry not hungry? He’s always hungry. 

“I could eat,” he says, trying to hide how happy he is but failing miserably. 

He’s gonna eat dinner with Diana! Diana!

“Well, I have no cooking tools ready.” Diana frowns. “Or groceries.” 

“We can order in,” Barry suggests.

He takes out his phone and starts scrolling through his contacts. His heart says pizza but Diana would much prefer thai over pizza. Oh, doesn’t he have a greek place somewhere in there?

“Yes,” Diana muses. “I forgot we are in America.” 

“I can get you a gyro in seconds flat,” Barry tells her.

A warm, gushy feeling spreads, from his head to his toes. 

“A what?” 

Right. She probably never had a gyro in her life. 

In the end, they get thai and while they wait, they sit on Diana’s couch. Surprisingly, she has a TV, but it’s not connected yet. She gets him a glass of wine and Barry pretends to like it while his stomach growls in anticipation. 

“Hungry?” Diana half asks, half laughs, but there’s something in her eyes he can’t place and he looks away, cheeks burning, warmth spreading to him again, pooling into his belly. 

What can he say to that? Either way there’s going to be an innuendo, intentional or not, but Diana presses anyway. 

“Barry, do you know why I asked you to help me today?”

Barry continues to look down, can’t bring himself to look at her, to just fucking look at her, because he doesn’t know what he’ll find and that terrifies him. 

“Because I’m fast.” It’s practically a whisper but not quite.

He doesn’t know where this is going and he’s scared, really scared. 

“Barry. Look at me.” When he can’t bring himself to do it, she gently grabs his face and tilts his head up to look at her. “Barry. You aren’t just fast. You’re gentle and kind, and sweet.” She puts emphasis on sweets and oh god, her hands are still on her face, she’s touching him still. “The others would never have let me do my own thing.They would have tried to interfere. But you helped, you didn’t take control. I knew you’d help me, not control me, Barry.” 

Her words send that warm gushy feeling over him again, and that feeling is a lot like a heart attack so she really needs to stop doing it. Her eyes are so brown, so pretty, she’s so pretty, and god he wants to kiss her, really really wants to kiss her but he can’t because he’s Barry and she’s Diana and she’d never go for a guy like him. 

“Barry,” she murmurs, and she’s still touching his face. “Thank you.” 

When she kisses him, he’s frozen for a few moments, can’t do anything but think, “Oh my god, she’s kissing me, she’s kissing me, she’s kissing me-” And then his brain catches up, his brain actually decides to work, and he kisses her back. 

And maybe he’s not good at sex, or experienced in it, but he’s good at kissing, so he moves his lips back and tires not to sigh happily into the kiss. 

Kissing Diana is exactly what you’d expect. Warmth but intensity. She’s moves her hand down to his neck then over his chest and then into his hair, and everywhere she touches sends fire through him and he moans and decides to rest his hands on her waist but grips tight like Bruce did to him.

Her tongue presses into her mouth and it’s not gross but good, his tongue sliding over hers. She tugs his hair, hard this time, pulling a whine, an actual whine from him. 

Her tongue in his mouth and her hands in his hair causes all the blood to rush south. He’s way too turned on to be embarrassed though, even as she climbs into his lap. She must feel it, he thinks, she’s practically sitting on it, but she doesn’t give any hints to it.

She just changes the angle and applies more pressure and he tries not to come into his pants. He really thinks he’s not going to make it, that’s he’s going to embarrass himself in front of her but then there’s a knock on the door. 

When she pulls away, panic grips him. Unstandable, he just kissed fucking Wonder Woman and she probably did it because she’s alone in the city, she just uprooted her entire life and she’s all alone so of course she wanted to take it out on Barry. Not because he’s Barry but because he just happens to be there 

But then she smiles, taps his cheek and his heart, his damn heart, is gonna explode, burst into pieces . . . 

“Be right back,” she murmurs, and then she leaves a frozen Barry sitting on the couch. He can hear the soft sound of talking, of Diana getting the take out, money exchanging, a soft, “Thank you.”

Barry’s mind is whirling. It’s like a million shocks were wiring into his brain and he forces himself to brain because that’s proving to be hard, harder than ever before, and he still isn’t breathing when Diana walks back in and puts the food on the kitchen table. 

That unfreezes him a bit because why did she do that? 

Then she’s smiling and sliding back into his lap and saying, “We can always eat later, right?”

The next time she kisses him, he slides his own hands into her hair. He kind of always had a thing for long hair and Diana’s hair is beautiful and he can just imagine himself burrowing into it. This kiss is soft and sweet unlike before, nothing dirty about it, and it’s heavenly. 

Diana starts to twist, which isn’t helping his situation, because he’s extremely turned her and these are his good pants. 

“Barry, is this okay?” she asks, her eyes fluttering, her tongue poking out just a bit. 

“Um, it’s just, I do, but-” 

But he doesn’t have any idea what he’s doing, what they’re doing and are they having sex? Are they going to have sex in Diana’s barely furnished new apartment? Was this all a setup or did this just happen? 

Oh god . . “Have you had sex before?” Barry blurts out before he can stop himself and then swears because that’s not something you just blurt out. 

He knows Steve Trevor is a hard subject for her. He has no right to ask her that, he realizes. Fuck, he just fucked everything up. 

“I have.” Diana smiles at him and kisses him again. “It’s okay to ask Barry. Have you?” 

He flushes but nods. “With men, too,” he adds on, because Diana should know that, he thinks. But it’s not really men at all, it was one man, it was Bruce, but he can’t tell her that because he just can’t, because thinking and talking about Bruce still hurts more than anything. 

She just smiles and runs her hand through his hair. “This is okay then, right?” 

“Um, yes, of course, more than okay, yes, please-” 

He doesn’t know what he means when he says please but he wants Diana to kiss him again. He likes kissing her, and he’d be more than okay spending an eternity kissing her, if he’s being honest. 

“Come, follow me.” Grabbing his hand, she pulls him off the couch and into her bedroom, where nothing is set up but her bed. The walls are bare, the closest is bare, there’s no knit knacks and it just doesn’t scream Diana. But then she pushes him onto her bed and he can’t bring himself to care at this moment. 

Resting on his elbows, his head pops up to see her, and he barely has a moment to process before she slips her long gray shirt off her body. 

Her bra is plain black, simple but it’s hot and confident and any blood he had left in his body rushed back down to between legs. He shifts uncomfortably and bites his lip. His hands ache to touch but he waits, just looking.

She smiles at him again, she does that a lot, smiles then walks over to him. Slowly, enough to give him a heart attack, she climbs onto the bed. Oh jeez, she’s so beautiful, and his pants are so tight…. 

“Just relax,” she tells him, and kisses him again. She kisses him a lot so much and he likes it so much, so much.

She presses her body onto him, grounds her hips down into his and though she’s still wearing her jeans he can feel her. 

“I wanna do something,” she whispers into his ear as her fingers start working on the bottom of her jeans. She pulls them down and climbs off him to take them off.

Her fingers pause at her underwear, black bikini, simple but has its effect, then she raises her hand onto his face. “Don’t freak out,” she tells him but it’s too late because he’s been freaking out since the moment she kissed him on the couch. 

The panties are off next, pulled straight off and tossed somewhere onto the floor. “I want you to do something for me. Tell me to stop if you don’t like it.” 

He barely has time to process her words. Then she’s crawling back onto him and taking his hand. She’s completely naked in front of him and he doesn’t know how to process anything but shock when she takes his hand and then holy fucking shit mother of god herself he’s touching her. 

She’s wet, he’s glad to notice, and warm too, radiating off his fingers. Her eyes flutter shut and she bites her lip, a soft sigh escaping her. 

“Barry,” she moans his name, shuffling so that she’s suddenly off him and onto the bed herself. Then she’s pulling him on top of her, pressing their bodies into each other and it’s unfair, so unfair that he’s still dressed but then her mouth is at her ear and she’s whispering something so filthy into it and he’s okay again, more than okay. 

Except he’s never done that before, and he wants to do it, he does, but he doesn’t know how but he tells her, “Yeah, I can do that.” He takes a breath. “Okay, yeah. Alright.” 

He breathes before sliding down her body and the bed. When his head is level with her, Diana spreads his legs and okay, so they’re doing this. 

“You've done this before, no?” 

And really, Barry can’t think of a time where his heads ever been in between a girls legs because he’s him and girls weren’t exactly throwing themselves at him, not that he can blame them, and he’s still not even sure if he likes men or women more, and how the hell did he end up with his head in between Diana’s legs?

“Barry,” Diana presses.

Barry gets lost in his head often but not is so not the time to do so. “Not exactly,” he says, “but I’m a fast learner!” 

She nods. “Just take it slow, Barry.” 

There’s something wrong with his name, something that he wants her to call him instead but he can’t bring it up, not now anyway, even though that’s something he really wants. 

But he nods, even though he really has no idea what he’s doing. As he gets closer to her, he can smell her. It’s not something he expected, it’s not sweet bust musky, like men’s aftershave, but still good to. 

He can do this. He leans in and just kinds of... mouths at her. She flinches and fuck, he already fucked it up. He pops his head back up, shaking it. “I’m sorry,” he tells her. 

“I’ll guide you,” she promises, and pushes his head down. 

If possible, If he had any blood left at all in his body, it all just went south, even though he thought it had already. His cock is straining again his pants and really, how did Diana end up stark naked with him still fully dressed between her legs? It’s hot, he’s not going to lie, but how did this happen.

“Do gentle licks,” Diana tells him, and he does. 

It’s not at all what he expected to taste. His tongue, flat, runs up her vulva. He kind of had been expecting.... well what? Olives? Blood of warriors? Amazonian armor? It’s nothing like that. It’s salty musty, sort of like old books but in a good way? Good think he didn’t say that outloud, that sounds wrong.

“And now, uh, yes that’s good... hmm...” He’s just licking where she tells him to and he can’t help but think there’s supposed to be more? He knows he’s not really doing a great job, so he kind of opens his mouth more and starts to suck and she swears, pressing her hand hard against his head and he thinks that he’s done something right.

“Good, good,” she mumbles and maybe Barry had a bit of a praise kink, but he just loves making people happy. He wishes she’d call him baby boy, but he can’t find the courage to ask her to. “Move to the left and up.” 

He does and finds what he presumes to be her clit. He doesn’t need to be told what to do with that, he knows that much, so he sucks it into his mouth. She almost screams, a good sound, arching into his mouth and tugging at his hair. He hesitates but maybe he kind of starts to get the hang of things. 

He’s no longer mouthing at her, at least, and he gets the message when she manages to gasp “Fing- fingers.”

The thing is is that even though he gets the message, he’s never fingered a girl either. Seriously that one time he had sex didn’t leave him with much knowledge. Bruce had fingered him, but he hadn’t fingered Bruce, and he doesn’t know how to finger someone. 

So yes, Barry gets what Diana means when she says fingers, but by the way she winces one he pushes one in, he knows he didn’t do it right. Again. 

“Crook it up,” she gently tells him, and it’s amazing how she’s so patient and gentle with him when it’s a wreck and he knows he’s fucking everything up. 

“Good,” she moans when he does but then he fucks up again when he takes it and basically jabs it back in. 

“No no, like this.” She reaches down and takes his hand, crooks two of his fingers up and guides them in and instead of pushing in and out, she pumps his fingers. Once he gets it she drops her hand off his and lies back down, her hand going back to his head.

She starts to moan again, and he takes her clit into his mouth again. Her hips rise and fall to reach his mouth, and then he crooks his fingers, and kind of twists them together, and it’s purely on accident but then she’s coming again his mouth, the taste of her overflowing on his tongue, and nothing has ever felt as good as this, except maybe that time with Bruce, but this is really giving that a run for its money…. (Men or women, men or women . . . doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter . . .)

When she’s done, she catches her breath, panting, and looks like a goddess as she lays naked even though isn’t that part true anyway?

“Take your pants off,” she says.

“What?” Barry asks stupidly. He’s hard as a rock and he’d like nothing more to take care of himself but he never thought he’d get anything out of this which is okay, more than okay, he’s perfectly happy with just eating her out because hello! She’s not just Wonder Woman but Diana, and kissing her and touching her is more than okay with him because she’s beautiful and amazing and perfect, just perfect.

She bats her eyelashes at him and oh god, that’s not helping. She says, “Take your pants off, baby.” 

It’s close, really close, and he can’t help himself when he blurts out, “Baby boy. Please. Can you-” 

“Okay, baby boy. Take your pants off.”

And maybe he definitely had a praise kink, rather a praise kink then a daddy kink, and while he’s not into any of that little play, baby boy sounds very nice. Barry doesn’t need to be told again. He chucks his pants and underwear off before Diana can blink- literally, because he has super speed. 

His cock juts out, achingly hard and leaking precum. He doesn’t waste time to take his shirt off either. He really hopes this is okay. He needs to touch himself desperately. But then a thought occurs to him, a horrible, god awful thought and he almost chokes on his own spit. 

“Diana,” he says, nearly close to tears, “I don’t have a condom.”

Are they even compatible? She’s half god right? Can they even-

“Modern medicine is a gift, isn’t it? I’ve been on the pill since it was invented, baby boy.”

That’s a conversation for another day. Right now, he just-he doesn’t know what he needs. 

Her smile, god he loves when she smiles, her smile on her face is big and pretty and then she’s pulling him up from her knees and sliding his hips over hers. He’s face to face with her and for a moment they just stare into each other eyes. Barry’s the one to kiss her this time, and her lips, as soft as ever, are warm and mix well with hers. 

Diana wraps a hand around his cock and he breaks the kiss to bury his head into her neck. He doesn’t get to feel her hand on him for much longer before she’s guiding him into her. They both groan and there’s a bit hesitation but then he can’t help but push the rest of the way inside her. 

Breathe. Just breathe. Pleasure explodes around him, a different kind then the one with Bruce. This pleasure 

(men and women men and women)

surrounds him, nearly blinds him. His mouth falls open while Diana bites her lip and groans. “Move,” she begs him, her hands flying to his waste and pushes them. “Baby boy, please.” 

The rhythm he quickly sets up is slow and angled. Barry wants to go faster but he’ll come way too soon if he tries. 

“More, pease. I-I need more, baby boy.” 

Everything in him is telling him to go fast, but he can’t because if he does he’ll come way too soon and then it’ll be over before it barely even started. His pace fastens just a bit, enough to make Diana feel good but not enough for him to come before this whole thing even starts. 

“Here, give-give me your h-hands,” Diana instructs, her eyes closing when Barry thrusts somewhat in the right direction, close to where he needs her to be. 

It’s good Diana asked for his hands because he doesn’t know to where to put them. He’s on top so he can’t run them down her back, and he likes her hair well enough but not enough to pull . . . Her breasts, he realizes quickly, is where Diana wants them, obvious enough when he comes into contact with soft skin and rosy red nipples that harden under his touch. 

“Oh,” Barry moans. “Ohhhh.” His hips snap more on accident but Diana loves it, squeezes his hips and urges him to go faster. 

“Barry, it’s okay, please, faster.” 

He can’t hold back anymore. He fucks her with everything he has. Diana grabs one hand and lowers it between their bodies, allowing his fingers to come into contact with her clit.

She comes first, her hips arching up, head thrown back, his name long and loud from his mouth. That does him in, and he comes short after, a ragged breath torn from his mouth. 

Barry doesn’t think about anything they just did, doesn’t think about Diana walking him through everything, doesn’t think about the way he was too awkward and too inexperienced, what he thinks about is to just breathe. In and out, he needs to go for a run, he needs to run, in and out. 

“It’s okay, Barry,” Diana tells him, holding his face in her hands. 

“Okay,” he whispers. “Okay.”  
\-----

They warm up the food and eat it on Diana’s couch. Diana goes on and on about some museum and her job and Barry tires to listen but he’s freaking out, really freaking out. 

After they get done eating they unpack some boxes and set up some other furniture, and when it’s time for Barry to go, she kisses him on his cheek and grabs his hands into hers. 

“Thank you.” 

For what he doesn’t know, but he leaves her apartment with the urge to run. So he does, he runs for an hour stop and doesn’t think about Diana or Bruce

(men and women men and women men and women)

or the fact that he just had sex with two of his teammates. He thinks about running and focusing on running and that’s what he does. Running and breathing. 

Because he’s the Flash and that’s just what he does. 

(His heart isn’t into it.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, I know I have an issue with transitions, English is hard man.


	3. Arthur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway, we are halfway done with this fic. Woooh

Barry is not a slut, okay? Before this, he’s only ever had sex once and he has no idea how he managed to sleep with not one, but two of his teammates in the span of a few weeks. Well, it doesn’t matter anyway because it’s not like he’ll be sleeping with any of his other teammates. (Famous last words).

At least Barry didn’t ruin everything because while he was too busy having sex with Bruce and Diana, he didn’t stop to think of the consequences. He’s lucky Diana and Bruce still talk to them. God, sometimes it’s just . . . weird though. 

Bruce acts like nothing has happened. He talks to Barry as if they didn’t sleep together, as if Barry doesn’t make the exact sound Bruce makes when he comes, or the face he makes. It’s exactly the way it was before and while Barry isn’t exactly okay with that, he’s not overtly upset, either. 

Diana is different. She talks and teases with him. She’ll rest her hand on his arm while she throws her head back laughing, ignoring the looks from the rest of the room. She doesn’t tell anyone they slept together, but Barry has a feeling it’s just because nobody asked. He’s 99% percent sure that if someone asked her if anything happened between them, she’d tell them the complete truth. 

But they’re not a thing. That’s for sure. He knows because Diana would have taken the lead by now. She’s not the type to just waddle in her feeling. Barry was a good fuck to her, he supposes, but nothing more. 

He’s surprisingly okay with that. He always had a little crush on her but he doesn’t think he’d ever be able to hold a relationship with her for various reasons. 

Barry sighs and wipes the tears from his face. Despite all the reinsurances he tries to tell himself, he still can’t help but feel like a gigantic slut. The whole situation is terrible. 

He buries his head into his pillow. He’s laying on his stomach, under a million and one covers, and there’s a stuffed toy pressed into his side. He’s aware how absolutely childish he’s being, especially since he just had sex with Diana two days ago. 

The show he downloaded onto his computer is blaring, some show about triplets or whatever, but Barry can’t even find the energy in him to shut it off. He sniffles and reaches for a tissue from the box by his pillow. He’s so emotionally drained.

He hopes sleeping it off would make him feel better, but it doesn’t. Work is good but it often leaves him alone to do his work, with just him and his thoughts and while he does like the work, he sometimes hates being by himself. He didn’t always. He used to love being alone. 

Lunch comes around noon, where he eats his three sandwiches, two juice boxes, and a bag of grapes in peace. Tears form in his eyes on his third sandwich and he swallows the bite, sets the sandwich down, and starts to cry. Thank god for his own little lab, because it’d be so embarrassing if anyone from work found him bawling his eyes out on top of a tuna sandwich. 

God, how could he lose control like this? How could he just sleep with Bruce and Diana and not think about how he was going to feel afterwards?

Why was he even so upset anyway? It was fun, both times around, and it was good too, really good. So why was he so fucking upset?

He’s sighs and wipes his eyes. All he does is cry these days, it seems like. He wraps up the rest of his lunch and packs it away, then heads back to work. 

\----

On day three, Diana calls him and his heart jumps. He thinks about not answering. He’s scared and he doesn’t know what to talk to her about. The day after they had sex there was another team meeting, and Diana had acted naturally around him, had even touched his arm and laughed, but they never actually spoke about it. 

Do they even need to talk about it? Things aren’t awkward between them, not really anyway, they’re just complicated. But what should he say to her now? 

Oh god. A terrifying thought runs through him, makes the hair on his arms stand up, makes his breath catch in his throat. 

What if . . . what if she wants to do it again? 

He has to answer it. He can’t just ignore it! His hands tremble as he swipes up, and he clears his throat. “H-hi Diana.” 

Her smooth voice calms him down for a second, but it sounds like purring when she says, “Hello, Barry. I was calling to ask you if you wanted to come see an exhibition as a museum with me tonight?”

He almost says no. He can say he’s stuck at the lab, or he has a lot of work to do, or he has to go save some civilians or something. He can’t be around Diana any longer than he has to be at their team meetings and their missions, and going to the exhibition would put him right in the fire….

But at the same time, he can’t let her know he’s feeling like this. He’d ruin everything! But he doesn’t want to go. He really can’t be alone with her, and-  
“Arthur and Clark will be coming with,” she says, as if she knew he was hesitating. 

Barry runs a hand through his hair. Any excuse he’d give would sound half ass, and he doesn’t like lying to Diana anyway. So he sucks it up. “Um, okay, year. Cool, sounds fun. Yeah.”

Diana laughs into the phone, and it makes Barry remember when he heard it earlier, and then his cheeks flush. “I can pick you up at 6?”

“No!” Barry shouts, then flushes, then flushes again for flushing because he’s alone and allowed to shout in his own place. “I mean, I just mean that, that I can take a train down, really, don’t want to inconvenience you and it makes more sense for me to meet you there. Yeah.” 

“Barry-”

He raises his voice, speaks over her despite it being rude. “So I’ll just meet you there! Thanks for inviting me, see you at 6!” He hangs up and sits down in his beanbag chair. He pushes another hand through his hair and sighs.

At least he won’t be alone with her. He couldn't handle that. Not for two hours of looking at paintings. They’d have nothing else to do but talk. Why would Arthur and Clark even come to the exhibition. Unless . . . it was hers!

Fuck. Maybe that’s what she was trying to explain. That makes sense as she moved her work over. It might be the pieces she works on. Bary groans and grabs his laptop. He needs to watch something to get his mind off. He selects Brooklyn 99 and hits play. 

\----

The only suit he has is a bit too big on him, but he rolls up the cuffs and puts on his black dress boots to cover the leg of his pants that are down to his feet. 

Then he brushes his hair, watches his face, brushes his teeth and grabs his phone. He’s ready to get this over with. With a sigh, he grabs his subway card and heads for downtown. He really doesn’t want to go but he couldn’t tell Diana no. So. 

The subway trip is a lot quicker than he wanted. He had hoped it’d be 40 minutes, but it was only twenty, and then he was stumbling on the doorsteps of the city’s museum. His friends aren’t outside, but he waits five minutes outside anyway. 

The cold air nips at his face, but he watches the people enter and leave the museum. Nobody recognizes him, but why should they? He’s not the Flash right now. 

When the cold starts to bother him, he goes inside. The entryway is crowded, and he’s glad he wore the suit: everyone is dressed up. Somebody hands him a glass of champagne, but he turns it down and starts to look for his friends. 

It’s not hard to find them. They’re probably the most attractive people there. Diana’s hair is curled perfectly, and her dress is a bright blue that brings out her eyes and shows off her long, very long, so long legs. 

Arthur is even worse, in the sense that he’s very attractive too. His hair is half down, half in a man bun, and while it should make him look like a dbag, but all it does it make him look like the king of Atlantis. Which he is. He’s not wearing a suit, but a tailor blue shirt and jacket, and fitting dress pants. 

Clark is attractive too. He’s wearing a tux, and his signature glasses. His cuffs are rolled up on his suit, exposing strong forearms and big muscles. His hair is brushed back, and he has a dorky, newspaper writer look going for him, like he always does.

They are look insanely attractive, and then there’s Barry. Just Barry. His suit is too big and he’s too skinny and he’s not hot like them. 

And they aren’t his friends. He fucked Diana, that doesn’t make them friends, and Arthur and Clark only talk to him during missions or meetings. 

But then they all somehow notice him at once, all glancing up and then they all smile at him, and his heart seizes up and he can’t help but smile and he hurries to walk over to them.

“I’m so glad you came,” Diana tells him in excitement, then hugs him. When she lets go, Clark pats him on the back and Arthur tussles his hair. 

“Thank you for inviting me,” Barry tells Diana, and he’s surprised that he actually means it. “Are Bruce and Victor not coming?”

“Victor has plans with his dad. He’s been having some tech issues,” Clark explains. Barry feels his face drop, something that Clark takes notice in because he quickly says, “But it’s nothing serious. He swears he’ll be fine.” 

“And Bruce?”

The three of them exchange a look and Barry heart freezes and his stomach drops. Do they know? Is that why Bruce isn’t there? How could they know? Did Bruce tell them that he and Barry had sex? Oh god, what do they think of him?

Do they know Diana and him had sex? Did she finally tell them? 

The beginning of a panic attack starts to find Barry, his heart racing, skin sweating. 

“He’s patrolling tonight,” Clark eventually says, and that doesn’t help at all, not at all, but Barry doesn’t get to push for more information because Diana wraps a hand around his arm and they start to move. 

They move to the first exhibit, some painting that Barry can barely focus on. He’s still not sure if Diana did any of these or if she’s just here for fun.

But he pretends to be interested even though he’s really not, and within ten minutes he’s bored as hell. He already feels the need to run, and he can’t just pretend to be interested the whole night. Don’t get him wrong, it was nice of Diana to invite him even if he didn’t want to come in the first place, but he has issues staying and standing in one place long, let alone looking at art and pretending to be interested. 

When Diana, Arthur, and Clark are too busy looking at some marble statue, Barry slips away in search of food. The buffet bar is in the next room, away from potential damage to art and whatever. Barely anybody is in this room, and Barry takes the opportunity to pop something into his mouth. 

Only, he doesn’t know what it is, and everything looks fancier than anything he ever ate in his mouth, and the saltiness of the food takes him by surprise. He coughs in disgust, then looks around for somewhere he can spit this out. He spots a napkin, grabs it, and spits. He’s just tossing into a garbage can when he hears a snarky voice from behind him say, 

“Funny. I took you more as somebody who swallows.” 

Barry spins, face flushing red as he see Arthur casually leaning against the door entryway, some sort of tiny clammy shell in his hand. He casually sucks the meat from it then tosses it into a garbage can.

“I-I mean, I do-” His flace flushes even more as he realizes it’s none of Arthur's business and he shouldn’t be telling him that. “I mean, I, what-” His face feels like it’s on fire. 

Arthur throws his head back and laughs. “Relax, kid. I’m just messing with you.” 

Barry frowns and crosses his arms. “Why aren’t you with Diana and Clark?” 

Arthur rolls his eyes and steps off of the doorway. “The art was interesting and nice to watch, but I got tired of the wonder twins discussing in full detail whether this splash of paint means something or if this chip on this stature means this. It got tiring real fast.”

Barry can relate to that. He drops his arms and sighs. His stomach growls, reminding him he’s still hungry. Arthur walks towards Barry, touching his arm and sliding his body nexts to Barry’s. “Do you want to get some real food?” 

And god, Barry does. He’s starving. He hasn’t ate in two hours. He could go for some real food. And while him and Arthur aren’t necessarily friends, they are teammates so he nods.

Arthur grins, and there’s something behind that grin, something that makes him look like a predator, but Barry doesn’t have time to process it because then Arthur’s leaving, saying over his shoulder, “Great, let’s go. They’ll never know we left.” 

Barry’s stomach feels weird but he runs after Arthur. 

Arthur ends up taking him to some swanky fish place, and Barry will eat practically anything except for those clams, as he realizes that what he tried earlier at the art exhibit. 

They sit opposite of each other, piles of all seafood in front of them. And for the first few minutes, nobody talks. Barry’s too busy trying to stuff a big piece of salmon into his mouth. It’s good, but the cod is better, and he’s eyeing up Arthur’s sushi, too. 

“Take it,” Arthur says, and Barry pops a tuna roll into his mouth. 

“You know, you’d think living in the ocean would stop you from eating fish.” 

Arthur blinks and chews on his pesto covered halibut. “What do you mean, Barry? That’s all there is, kid. An abundance. We never starve.” 

“Yeah but,” Barry shrugs and pops another tuna roll into his mouth, “don’t you like, feel bad for the fish? Because you’re part fish? So like, you’re eating your cousins or something?”

Now that it’s out of his mouth, he realizes how stupid it sounds, and blushes.

But Arthur just laughs, laughing so hard he had to set down his fork and knife. “Kid, it’s food. And it’s not like we share DNA with fish. Trust me, it’s okay.”

“Makes sense,” Barry agrees. He then focuses next on the crab salad, because it looks amazing and reminds him of something his mom used to make. 

He only has managed a few bites before Arthur starts talking again. “I’m really glad we could get away from Diana and Clark, Barry.” 

Something about the way Arthur says “Barry” sends a shiver through him. He knows that shiver though, so he drops his fork and knife. Because no, this can’t be going where Barry thinks it’s going, because he’s seen that look on Diana, and Bruce too, and Arthur just can’t be looking at him like that, he can’t, it’d ruin everything he has left. 

“Um.” Barry nervously taps his fingers on the table. “Yeah. I-I’m sure they’re enjoying the e-exhibit.” He sounds nervous to even his own ears. 

Arthur chuckles, the sound low and throaty and it causes something to pool into Barry’s belly. Oh god no. 

“Barry, you live in the city, right?” 

And Barry wants to say no, he really does, because he thinks he knows where this is going, but arousal is pooling into his stomach but he also knows that if he says yes, it’ll be his fault this time. With Bruce, he could say he did it because Bruce needed it, and with Diana, he could say Diana needed it, but this time, he knows what Arthur is implying.

He should say no. He wants to say no but he also really wants to say yes. 

“Barry?” Arthur prompts and Barry chokes. 

“Yes, I-I do.” He takes a deep breath then lets it out. “Do you-um, do you want to h-hang out? With me?” 

And he knows, he fucking knows what he just asked Arthur to do, behind his words, and how, how, how in the world did he end up like this?

Arthur grins, that predatory grin than sends Barry’s blood rushing south. It’s almost pathetic how easily Barry gets turned on, but really, it’s his fault anyway. “Yes, that’d be wonderful, I think. I’ll pay the bill then we can split.” 

\----

Barry’s glad he cleaned up his place a bit, because it’d be really embarrassing to have his dirty underwear lying around, or all the snack wrappers, too. 

Instead, when Arthur pushes him up against a wall, their feet have nothing to trip on, nor is there anything they have to clear away to make room.

Arthur goes straight for his dick, shoving his hands down Barry’s pants, running his fingers over his veins and skin. Barry’s already struggling to breathe, and things are heating up a lot faster than Barry thought it would. 

Arthur flicks his wrist and Barry jumps, hissing in surprise, arching his hips for better access. But Arthur then removes his hand, causing Barry to whine loudly.

Arthur just laughs and bottoms Barry’s dress pants. “Relax, kid. We have time.” Then he’s shoving the pants down, along with his underwear, allowing Barry’s cock to pop free, dripping and red and swollen. 

Next is his shirt, which Arthur yanks up. The jacket and shoes had been lost the minute they stepped through Barry’s door, to which he’s thankful for, because he felt like he was going to explode. 

Maybe Barry should be thinking this through, maybe he should be thinking about what’s going to happen tomorrow, when he realizes that means he slept with three of his teammates, but all he can think of right now is Arthur lowering himself to his knees and then Barry’s brain short circuits. 

“You don’t have to,” Barry starts, but then he groans when Arthur licks up his length.

“Shhh.” Arthur wraps one hand hand around the base of Barry’s cock, and somehow they’re still pushed up against his wall. 

Barry has to slow his breathing down, because things are really close to being over before they even started. Arthur’s mouth takes him in, further and further until Barry can feel the back of Arthur’s throat. His mouth is so hot and wet and Barry’s breath hitches. 

“A-Arthur,” Barry moans, his fists clenching at his sides because he so desperately wants to put them in Arthur hair, just like Diana had done to him, but Arthur is sucking him down and he doesn’t want to ask him. 

It doesn’t matter anyway, because when Arthur squeezes his base while flicking his tongue along the underside of his head, and his hands move without permission to Arthur’s hair, and he yanks without meaning to. His hips arch up and Arthur hums. His mouths moves up and down, and Barry fucks into his mouth. 

Barry’s breath is coming in pants, his hands pulling Arthur’s hair, and it has to hurt but Arthur doesn’t say anything, just continues to blow Barry until Barry comes with a cry a few seconds later, tears leaking out of his eyes. 

Arthur swallows it all, and the sight of Barry’s cum leaking out of his mouth, and Arthur’s tongue pokes out to catch it all and the sight is so erotic that Barry can feel himself getting hard again. 

“Man, would ya look at that.” Arthur stands up and gives Barry’s cock another squeeze. “Too be that young again.” 

And for the first time, Barry thinks about how much older Arthur is, how much older Diana is, and Bruce too, and maybe that’s a problem, but that’s a problem for another day because Arthur yanks his own shirt up. 

His abs are rock hard, making Barry reach out to run a hand up and down them. Arthur gives Barry’s dick a squeeze in surprise before removing his hand to yank down his own pants. He’s not wearing underwear, which somehow doesn’t surprise Barry at all. 

When they’re both naked and breathing heavily, Arthur has enough sense to ask, “Lube? Condoms?” 

Barry nods and shakily moves to the little side table by the beanbag chair. He flushes when he notices Arthur lookins at it, but he really cares more about grabbing the condoms and lube. When he turns around, Arthur is standing right there and he leans up to kiss Barry. 

It just now occurs to Barry that even though Arthur had just given him a blow job, they hadn’t kissed yet this whole evening. It’s really nice, Barry thinks, warm and it makes him stomach twist up in pleasure. 

Arthurs tongue pushes into his mouth, and Barry’s own eagerly meets his, pressing and tangling together. Arthur’s hands move up to Barry’s chest, pinching his nipples which send a shock of pleasure down Barry. 

Arthur’s hands continue up though, resting on Barry’s shoulder, and then he shoves, just a bit, enough to make Barry gasp and stumble, down onto his bean bag chair. He doesn’t get a minute to process what just happened, because Arthur’s moving onto the bean bag chair as well and then manerving Barry onto his lap.

Barry’s sitting on Arthur’s erection, and it’s erotic and hot, Arthur’s dick poking his skin. But the beanbag chair is a very weird place to have sex. 

“Here?” Barry questions, his hands still clutching the bottle of lube and the pack of condoms.

“It’s hot,” Arthur tells him, then leans up and kisses him. “I want you to ride me. Is that okay? Can you do that?” 

The words leave Barry straining against Arthur but he also feels a bit nervous because he’s never done that before. 

“I’ll make you feel so good,” Arthur promises, leaning up to leave a trail of sloppy kisses against Barry’s neck.

He barely notices Arthur putting on the condom then popping up the lube bottle and poking a finger in it. He only really notices Arthur’s finger suddenly probing him. The coldness of the lube shocks him, but it doesn’t hurt, not really, he’s so turned on that he really feels like he doesn’t need any prep at all. 

It’s good though, and it’s kind of embarrassing how easily Arthur can fit two of his fingers inside Barry. 

“That’s it,” Arthur moans, wrapping his other hand around Barry’s wasit to keep him steady. “You’re doing sooo good, baby.” 

Barry won’t bring up the name because he can’t, not this time around, because one time makes it a one time thing, two times make it a coincidence, but three takes make it a thing, so he’s not going to be called baby boy this time,. 

“More, please, Arthur.” 

The position is a bit awkward but Arthur manges to twist three fingers up inside Barry. Barry moans and barry’s his face into Arthur's neck. This, this was a thing, but he always felt so safe and secured when he does it. 

“You need more time, or are you good?” Arthur asks, his hand leaving Barry’s waist to run it through Barry’s hair. 

“No, I-I’m good. Please, I-I need-Arthur, please!”

Arthur nods and removes his fingers, licking them clean. It’s hot, really hot, Barry decides, but it’s over before it starts, because then Arthur’s sliding on the condom and rubbing lube around Barry’s opening. 

“Just take it slow,” Arthur advices, his hands wrapping around Barry’s waist to move him so that’s he’s hovering over Arthur's dick.

Barry barely nods, too busy focusing on how turned on he is. But he does lower himself, taking a deep breath like Bruce taught him, and lowers down so that the head of Arthur’s cock can push into him. 

It hurts, just a little, and Barry whines in displeasure. Arthur’s only a few centimeters bigger than Bruce but he’s a lot thicker, and Barry definitely feels it. 

“It’s okay,” Arthur whispers into his hair. He leans up to give Barry a small kiss. “Take it slow, baby. Okay? Slow.”

Barry nods, gives himself a few seconds to adjust and breath, before allowing himself to lower a little bit further. It hurts again, no amount of prepping or lube could prepare him for how thick Arthur is. A strangled groan leaves his mouth. 

Arthur hands fly up to his waist, steadying him. “We can stop,” he says, no disappoint or anger in his voice. “You don’t have to continue.” 

Barry shakes his head because has much as it hurts, it feels good to and he wants this, he really does want this. “No. Just-just give me a moment.” 

He’s not only half way down, but he can do it, he wants to do it. His cock is leaking precum all over Arthur’s leg, and it’s the sight of that that allows Barry to sink further down, almost taking it all in, but he’s not fully seated just yet. 

It hurts, but it’s starting to feel really good, and his groan of pain turns into a moan of pleasure. Arthur smiles, leans up to kiss Barry again. Arthur uses that distractition to gently push Barry down, until he’s fully sweated, and they both groan this time. 

“I-” Barry stutters. His hands go to Arthur’s chest, spreading them on top. “I-”

“Shhh.” Arthur kisses him again. It’s very sweet, probably the sweetest kiss Barry ever had in his life. “You feel so good, baby.” It does, and Barry clenching around him makes him think there’s nothing else he rather be doing, nowhere else he rather be but fucking Barry until he screams. 

Tentivally, Barry moves up, allowing Arthur’s cock to slowly move out of him until just the head is left inside. Then he moves slowly back down, groaning the whole way. It doesn’t hurt much anymore, but it’s still uncomfortable. The position isn’t really helping either. 

It takes a few more ups and downs before Barry can move comfortably, but once he does it’s absolutely delicious. The friction is amazing, and everytime he bounces down, Arthur hits his prostate.

Barry cries out, bounces up again then down, but quickly realizes if he’s moves forward and back it’d feel even better. 

Arthur moans loudly, hands flying to Barry’s waist, his chest, everywhere. “S-so good,” Arthur moans. 

Barry can’t say anything himself, just bounces and grinds down into Arthur’s lap. Barry’s hands move from Arthur’s chest, to Arthur’s shoulder, and he grips hard. With something firmer to balance himself, Barry allows himself to bounce harder. 

Wrapping a hand around Barry’s cock, Arthur leans up to bite Barry’s neck, then licks over it to soothe it. Barry shakes his head in pleasure, squeezing his eyes shut and allows his head to loll into Arthur’s neck. He sure does love doing that.

“Gonna come,” Barry moans, adjusting his pace to slow down, but still allowing himself to move on Arthur’s cock.

“Not yet,” Arthur orders. He wraps a hand around Barry’s cock and pumps. “Not until I tell you.” 

Barry whines loudly. He doesn’t know where Arthur’s dominant side came from, because the whole night he’d been gentle and kind, but god, it’s fucking hot, despite the fact that his cock is leaking and he’s so close. 

“Please!” Barry closes his eyes again, shakes his head, moves up and slams himself down onto Arthur. “I need to. P-Please.” 

“Wait,” Arthur demands. He runs his hand through Barry’s hair. “You can do that for me, right baby? You’re so good.” 

And really, Barry bouncing on him feels like nothing but heaven but he’s not ready, not just yet. 

“I’ll be good, promise,” Bary sobs. “If you let me cum, I’ll be a good boy. I’m so close, please, Arthur, please.” Barry’s breath hitches as he involuntary squeezes down. “I promise I’ll be good, it’ll feel so good, Arthur please-”

That’s it, Barry moaning and begging like a slut pushes Arthur to the edge. His balls tighten and he knows he’s about to come “Okay, baby. Okay. You can come.”

Barry does, shouting as his muscle contracts and he spills onto Arthur’s stomach and thighs. It sends Arthur over the edge, and he comes with a loud groan, spilling into the condom, spent. 

Even though they both came, Barry doesn't move at first. He’s too tired and sore to move. 

Arthur does it for him. He eases out of Barry but wraps his arms around him. After taking off the condom and chucking into a nearby waste basket, he leans back into the chair and brings Barry into his side. 

He’d never admit it, but he loves cuddling after sex. 

“You okay?” he asks softly. 

For right now, Barry is. He hasn’t had time to think about what they’ve just done, or think about what’s going to happen next. Instead he just nods and snuggles into Arthur’s side. 

Arthur nods. He kisses the top of Barry’s head. An idea pops into his head then, a really good idea, and he can feel his dick perking up in interest. He’s not as young as he used to be, but the idea of Barry fucking him . . . 

“Barry?” Arthur asks slowly. 

Barry snuggles deeper into him. “Hmm?”

“Round two?” 

Barry’s dick perks up in interest itself. He didn’t do a round two with Bruce or Diana, and maybe that will help things. Because if he does it again he maybe things wouldn’t be so awkward the next day. 

“Hmm.” Barry pretends to consider, but kisses Arthur again. Arthur flips them but the beanbag was starting to get really uncomfortable. It was good for the first round but for what he has in mind, he needs Barry’s bed.

“Wait, wait.” Arthur breaks the kiss and rests his forehead on Barry’s. “Let’s move it to the bed.” 

He grabs Barry’s hand and stands them both up. The bed is nearby, Barry’s place not being too big, and he gently pushes Barry into the bed. 

“I want to try something,” Arthur whispers into his ear. “But only if you say yes, okay?” 

Barry hesitates. “What-what is it?” 

“I want you to fuck me.” 

Barry jolts in surprises. 

“Just think it over,” Arthur says, then leans down to kiss Barry’s neck. 

Barry does think about it. He could imagine it, his dick going in and out of Arthur’s body, the tight muscle of Arthur causing Barry to-

His dick is fully hard again, he notices, and he groans loudly. “Yes,” he says. “I want to. I really want to.” 

“Okay.” Arthur kisses the skin where Barry’s shoulder meets his neck, then he gets up to grab a condom and more lube. 

“I don’t know if I’ll be any good,” Barry says truthfully. 

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll take it slow.” He hands Barry the condom. 

Biting his lip, Barry gently unwraps the foil carefully. He embarrassingly hadn’t used one since prom night all those years ago, as Bruce had fucked him, and Diana was on the pill. 

Arthur must sense Barry’s hesitation because he grabs the condom and puts it on Barry himself. Barry hisses in surprise and pleasure. 

“How do you want to do this?” Arthur asks. 

“I-I-” He doesn’t know really. “On your back?” 

“It’d be easier on you if I’m on my stomach,” Arthur tells him. “Are you sure?” 

Barry nods. “I wanna see you. If that’s okay.” 

“I let you choose, didn’t I?” Arthur chuckles, then rearranges themselves so that Barry’s on top of him, and Arthur’s head is next to a-

“What is this?” 

Dangling from Arthur’s hand is Barry’s stuffed pokemon toy. Barry blushes from head to toe and snatches it from Arthur’s hand. “That’s just Squirtle. Ignore it.” He chucks it and it lands on Barry’s desktop. 

Arthur chuckles loudly, but then he kisses Barry again. When he pulls away, he spreads his legs apart and grabs the lube he rested on the bed. “Give me your hand,” he demands. When Barry hands it over, Arthur doesn’t hesitate to suck his fingers into his mouth.

Barry gasps as Arthur’s tongue runs over the pads of his fingers. There’s definitely some spit in there, too, but Barry is way too turned on to care. Then Arthur pops out his hand and dips it into the lube bottle. Once there’s a sizable about on it, Arthur guides Barry’s hand to his bottom. 

“Do one finger first,” Arthur instructs. Barry nods and pushes one in with ease. 

Arthur barely feels it. His fingers aren’t overtly big or thick, and Arthur shakes his head and demands, “Another.” 

This time he can feel it, his body giving a small squeeze in surprise. 

“Just do to me what you like,” Arthur instructs and then Barry’s fucking him with his fingers and while it’s not enough to make him cum, it’s enough for him to feel ready for Barry. 

“Fuck me, Barry. I need you.” 

Groaning, Barry pulls his fingers out then licks them clean. It doesn’t taste too good, there’s too much lube on them, but Arthur moans and closes his eyes. “Fuck that’s hot,” he says, then puts more lube around his hole. “Fuck me, baby.”

Barry goes slow, taking his time as his cock slowly disappears inside Arthur. It’s different then Diana. While she was hot and wet, Arthur’s tight, very tight, and it sends pleasure straight down. He can feel it everywhere and he gasps loudly. 

He’s not gonna last much longer. Arthur’s so fucking tight and Barry’s never done this before and the adrenaline of it all is making him feel so good. 

Arthur might sense this, because he wraps his own hand around himself and pumps. 

Barry fucks into Arthur a few times, sets up a rhythm, but he was right, he doesn’t last long, and he comes embarasingly fast. 

Luckily, Arthur was incredibly too hot too, and just the sight of Barry fucking him sends him spilling. 

Officially spent, Barry collapses next to Arthur on the bed, barely having enough energy to toss the condom.

“Woah,” Barry breathes. 

Arthur chuckles and wraps his arms around Barry. He loves cuddling. It’s almost embarrassingly so. “Thank you,” he says sincerely. 

And maybe tomorrow Barry can worry about this, worry how he had just slept with number three of his five teammates, worry about what will that make him. 

But right now Arthur is very warm and he clearly loves cuddling Barry and Barry doesn’t mind it at all.

“Do you want to watch Brooklyn 99 with me?” Barry asks. 

“I’m unaware of what that is,” Arthur responds.

Barry jumps up happily, scrambling to grab his laptop. “You’ll love it. It’s hilarious.” 

For right now, they can watch Brooklyn 99 and cuddle, and tomorrow Barry will worry about, well everything.


	4. Victor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took so long but I had issues with Victor because I kind of saw him as straight? Idk this chapter is less than subpar, but I was already taking so long. It's whatever.

He takes two weeks away from his friends. He doesn’t answers Bruce when he calls for a team meeting. Doesn’t answer Diana when she calls to see if he's sick and if she should come over. Arthur even knocks on his door but Barry pretends to not be home. 

He’s taking some time away from the league. He feels bad about it, but distance is what he needs. He should talk to them, he knows but he can’t. Not now. 

Because, if he’s being honest, a bit of him is hurt by them. 

And he’s mad at himself too. Mad at Bruce for needing Barry because his son is dead, mad at Diana because he ate her out because she asked him to, mad at Arthur because he topped with Arthur, mad at himself for not only saying yes to all of it, but wanting it.

And that’s the thing isn’t it? He craved them all and he didn’t have the power to say no because he wanted to be with them all. God, he royally fucked up.

He’s rounding into his third week when Bruce tries calling him again. On a whim, he answers it and settles down into his bean bag chair. That he had washed professionally. 

“Hi, Bruce,” he says, grabbing his laptop to start up a new show. He finished all of America’s Next Top Model, all of This is Us, all of Brooklyn 99, even watched all of Riverdale, and now he’s starting up The Good Place. 

Sidenote : he didn’t think it’d be his type of show but he strangely loves it.

“Hello, Barry.” Bruce’s voice is gentle and kind, almost like Barry is a child, which he’s not and Bruce shouldn’t treat him like one because they slept together, okay, Bruce fucked him into the mattress and made him come everywhere.

Thinking about it makes him flinch into his bean bag chair. That Arthur fucked him in. God. 

“Are you okay? You’ve been avoiding us for a few weeks now.” 

“Whatttt? Pff, noooo.” Barry clumsily adjusts himself in the bean bag chair and wipes the sweat off his forehead. “I’ve just been busy, is all.” 

“Barry-” 

“Look, I, uh-” he starts to talk loudly over Bruce, because this wasn’t fair, Bruce had no right, no fucking right-”I’m just busy Bruce. Look, I’ll talk to you soon, gotta go to work! Bye!”

He hangs up, then grabs a blankie to throw over himself, then turns off the lights. He starts up The Good Place and reaches for the plate of brownies next to him. Eventually, he’ll have to face his team, but for now, for now he has The Good Place and brownies.

\----

It comes to him while watching season two. No spoilers, but it gave him an idea . . . And this idea might help him feel a lotttt better. 

What if he completed the team? It wouldn’t be hard. He only has Victor and Clark left . . . There were two possible outcomes to this. One, he sleeps with the both of them and feel even worse than he already does. 

Two, he sleeps with Clark and Victor and he feels better, because that way he didn’t just sleep with his teammates. He’d slept with the team and that’s better. By sleeping with them all, he can say that he planned it, too. He wanted it all. 

It’s genius, and it’s definitely not because Barry just ate three pot brownies. Smiling, Barry tucks into his bean bag chair and closes his eye. He’s a genius. And he’s high.

\-----

The problem, Barry realizes, is that Victor and Clark are both straight. That’s unfortunate but true. Maybe he can convince Clark to experiment (wishful hoping) but he doesn’t think that’d fly. 

And God, what is he thinking? How is he even going to get Victor anyway? Just go up him and ask him to fuck Barry? That won’t work. Or maybe it will?

Barry sighs and scribbles something down into his entry. He’s in his lab trying to do his job but really, the only thing he can think of is Victor. Blowing Victor with his cheeks hollowed out, tongue pressed down on the head…

The lab is quiet thank god, and there’s barely few people in there. It’s getting late, and most of them have gone home to their families. Barry doesn’t have a family, and neither does Kayla, and Phil has a family but they live out in Pittsburgh, so it’s just the three of them finishing up some late tests. 

There are some work things but he’s also working on his father’s case. Each day it just seems more impossible of ever getting his dad out. He knows his dad is innocent but even the best lawyer wouldn’t be able to prove it.

With a sigh, Barry starts to pack it up. He wants to call it a night and head home, but then his own personal phone goes off. 

Kayla looks up from her post, goggles slapped on her face and a beaker in her hand. “Ooh, got yourself a girlfriend?”

Another time, Barry would lecture her on heteronormativity, but it’s Diana calling and he has to admit that he misses her. He misses her and everyone else and it’s been lonely as fuck without them all. His throat constricts and he’s well aware he’s about to cry but he hits decline on his phone. There’s something he really has to do first. 

“No,” Barry answers Kayla. He takes off his own goggles and watches his hands. As he’s packing up for the night, he says, “I’ll see you guys later.”

\----

He heads home first, drops off his things and throws on some nice clothes. Diana calls again and he really wants to hit accept but he can’t. Not right now. Soon though. But he misses her so much, and the others too. 

He leaves his phone at home and heads off.

Victor’s house is dark, no lights on, a ghost. The outside was overgrown in weeds and vines and the lawn looked like it hadn’t been mowed in years. The only light was the small porch light illuminating a cat dozing on the porch swing. 

It pays Barry no mind as he steps up the steps. He’s starting to get second thoughts, but he wants to do this. It’s weird and he should probably get some therapy but if he does this, it can make things alright. 

He could laugh it off. “Oh yeah I slept with all my friends. You know who I am.” And he wouldn’t look into why he did, compared to how he would have to explain why he slept with Bruce (daddy issues?) and Diana (he can’t say no to her because he has the hugest crush on her and she could ask him to murder someone and he probably would?) and Arthur? (Arthur seduces him and Barry knew and for some reason, he didn’t stop it.)

All of this is going through his mind when the door opens, forcing Barry to take a step back in surprise. 

Victor stands there, arms crossed, mouth in a thin line. Barry realizes he hadn’t even knocked.

“Three weeks,” Victor says. “Three weeks, you’ve been avoiding all of us for three weeks, and then you suddenly show up on my porch? What the hell, Allen?”

And then the words burst through Barry like a dam:

“I slept with Bruce, and then Diana, and then Arthur and honestly I’m not sure why I did any of it, because I love them as team members and I know it’s not their fault but I just-I feel a little betrayed and it’s not fair on them for me to feel that way because I never said no, I never wanted to say no, I wanted to have sex with all of them and that leads me to wonder why I feel so bad.”

He starts to cry, big fat tears rolling down his face, and he wipes angrily at them. He hates himself, he realizes, he does truly but the words won’t fucking stop. 

“And really, Victor, before sleeping with them I didn’t know what I felt towards them, but I never thought about having sex with any of them, I mean sure I had a crush on Diana, but in the way a kid has a crush on their teacher? I didn’t ever think any of us would act on it, but then we did, and-”

Victor’s hand literally slaps over his mouth, leaving Barry with the taste of metal in his mouth. 

“Why don’t you come on in?”

Victor doesn’t even let Barry answer before he’s grabbing Barry’s hand and tugging them into the house. It was dark but Victor flicks a light on and Barry’s braced without impersonal Victor’s house is. 

The walls were white, and a plain green couch sits across from an entertainment center that’s just a TV, do pictures of DVDs or games or anything.

“Sorry the lights were off. I was sleeping.” 

He half moves half pushes Barry to sit down on the couch but continues to stand across from him. 

“How did you know I was here? I didn’t ring the doorbell or knock.”

Victor shrugs. “I don’t know. Just knew. Part of me now, I guess.”

Barry allows that to sink in before he bites his lip to lean back in the couch. It’s uncomfortable and feels like it hadn’t ever been sat in. “Your house is nice,” Barry lies but he was raised to have manners. 

Again, Victor just shrugs. “Thanks, my dad gave it to me. Barry, why are you here?” 

And isn’t that just the grand ole question? Barry’s now second guessing everything. He wants to do this, but he doesn’t think Victor is even interested in guys let alone Barry. He finds Barry annoying. 

“I don’t know,” Barry lies, then runs a hand through his hair. He sniffles and sits up straight on the couch. “I needed somebody to talk to, somebody who I didn’t sleep with? And it’s not like I know how to get Clark, he’s probably off being Superman somewhere . . .” 

He trails off when Victor crosses his arms. “What did you want to talk about? Do you want me to tell you how I think it was stupid for you to sleep with not one, not two, but three of our teammates? Want me to tell you how it’s okay? What do you want me to say, Barry?”

And Victor looks neither mad or happy, just tired, like the way he always seems to look at Barry, likes he’s so tired of Barry. And that just causes Barry to feel mad because he didn’t come here for either. He doesn’t want Victor to tell him it’s okay, or to yell at him that it’s not okay, he didn’t come there for that. 

So he stands up and crosses his arms. “No. I want you to have sex with you.”

The words are out so he can’t take them back, but he almost wants to with the look that crosses Victor’s face. Shocked, at first, then confusion. His eyebrows come together and furrow and he takes a step back from Barry.

“What? Barry, I-” Victor trails off, unsure of what to say.

So Barry starts talking fast. “Okay so I figured it looked bad if I slept with three of my teammates, right? Right. But if I slept with everyone, it wasn’t a big deal. It would be me bonding with my team and give me a piece of mind. So please, Victor.”

Victor doesn’t respond at first,just continues to look at Barry with something in his eyes Barry can’t quite place, so Barry does what anyone would do in his situation: he drops to his knees and looks up at Victor with heated eyes. “Please?” he whispers again.

There was a clap of thunder outside, followed by the telltale sound of rain, but neither Victor nor Barry blinked. When Victor still didn’t respond, Barry wet his lips. “I can make you feel good,” he promises and he doesn’t know how true that is thought. He never gave a blow job before, but he had one done on him and it felt nice so he thinks he can recreate when he felt. 

“I’m straight,” Victor finally manages to get out, but his eyes are locked on Barry’s mouth and he seems very hesitant.

Barry nods, his hands going to rest on Victor’s thighs. The man is wearing sweats, and a hoodie, hiding away the metal flesh. “When was the last time you had sex?” Barry asks. 

A few seconds past, Victor frowning, Barry waiting, before Victor fingers finally rest on top of Barry’s head. “Since Before,” Victor admits, to which he means before he became the Cyborg. 

“It’s not gay if we don’t kiss,” Barry jokes, because he very much finds it gay but if Victor wants to be gay for the stay then that’s okay. 

“Shut up,” Victor growls, before he tugs down his sweats and OH. 

It’s . . . a penis. That’s definitely there. Long and hard but . . . metal. Nice and silver, shiny, but not slick. 

“Woah,” Barry breathes. 

Then he’s reaching up to wrap a hand around it, just to feel it, and Victor hisses.

“Sorry!” Barry drops his hands but Victor shakes his head. 

“No, no. S’good, just . . . I never really touched it before. It can get hard, it’s filled with blood, but it can’t produce sperm or urine and so I never gave it much thought before.” 

“So . . . can I suck you off? Is that okay?”

It seems like Victor honestly might say no, because he is straight after all, but then he’s looking at Barry, Barry with those full pink lips and messy hair and doe eyes and then he groans and nods. “Yes,” he says. “Please.”

That’s all Barry needs before he wraps his hand back around the based and squeezes lightly. Victor’s cock feels cold in his hand, but nice and thick. Barry can’t wait to get his mouth around. 

He adjusts his knees, his own erection starting to become evident. Then he ghosts his mouth over Victor’s cock, letting the hot air perk it up to its full potential, before taking it into his mouth.

So year, he never sucked someone off before, but he really knows what he likes. He liked it when Arthur ran his tongue down his length, but when he does, he tastes nothing but metal. Which, if he’s honest, he doesn’t know what else he’d be expecting. Definitely not flesh, nor salt or precum. 

“Oh,” Victor breathes, his hands pulling at Barry’s hair. 

Barry wish he knew what Victor was thinking, because he couldn’t tell through his cock. It didn’t quiver, didn’t leak, just filled his mouth and made his own spit fall through his lips. 

‘Not gay?’ Barry thinks to himself as he swirls his tongue around the head. It’s possible Victor could be bi, but then again, that is none of Barry’s business and if Victor is not bi, than that is also none of Barry’s business. 

What is Barry’s business is Victor’s head thrown back, moaning and groaning, making those little sounds that drive Barry wild. Victor, taking a step back, allowing his cock to pop free from Barry’s mouth, making Barry wine. 

“Shh, shh,” he tells Barry as he sits down on the couch, then pats the place between his leg. “Just wanted a better position. Put your mouth back.”

The order sends shivers down Barry’s spine. He’s never been ordered around in bed before, but he can’t say he doesn’t like it, and there’s something about being controlled that makes him nearly come in his pants. 

His mouth takes Victor’s cock back, spitting down the length to help the taste of cold metal, and it should be gross, but the sight of it is actually very hot, and Barry chokes just a bit because he surged forward to swallow it whole. 

Victor is easily eight inches, thick, man-made, filling Barry’s mouth to the point where it’s increasingly hard to move his tongue at all, and all he really can do is suck in his teeth and bob his head. 

It’s really not as hard as he thought it would be, or as bad. Grabbing his hair and pulling Barry’s head forward, Victor uses the movement to truly fuck Barry’s mouth. Barry chokes again, but Victor doesn’t stop. He fucks Barry’s mouth, pounding in and out and at this point, all Barry can do is dig his fingers into his own thighs and tries not to gag.

He almost does when Victor comes down his throat, but Victor can’t produce sperm, instead he just short of shakes into Barry’s mouth, the vibration causing Barry to almost gag. Victor takes a moment to breathe, allowing Barry to wet his lips and relax his throat. 

That was interesting, to put it lightly. He had been expecting sperm, if he’s being honest, but obviously Victor’s mostly metal. He can’t produce sperm. How did he even get a metal penis? Did his dad-

“Get on all fours,” Victor suddenly says, startling Barry from his thoughts. 

Blinking, Barry stares up at Victor. This was really not how he had thoughts things were gonna go, but Victor clearly likes control, likes submissive partners, likes bossing his partners around, but it fits. 

He was quiet, always quiet, and he had to have been hiding something. 

“Barry,” Victor snaps, pushing himself off the couch to gently push Barry back. “I’m not telling you again. Get on all fours.”

Barry doesn’t need to be told again, see. He rushes to chuck off his clothes before complying, facing the empty entertainment center. From this position, he can’t see anything that’s going on. But that’s part of the thrill, isn’t it?

Victor has total control. He could make Barry do anything, Barry supposes, and Barry would comply completely. 

The cold air nips at his skin, but he doesn’t miss the hand coming from behind him to wrap around Barry’s cock. His eyes squeezes shut as he moans and pushes back into Victor’s hand. 

“Shh,” Victor said softly but firmly. “Don’t move.”

Victor jerks him off quickly. His hand is tight and hot around Barry, causing Barry to gurgle and fist the carpet. Then he feels the head of Victor’s cock against his ass. 

He’s not prepped at all but god fucking damn it, he’s so fucking ready. 

“Hold on.” The hand is removed from his cock, making him whine, but then he hears the tell tale sign of Victor spitting into both of his palms. 

“I don’t have any lube,” Victor grunts out as he rubs a now very wet hand across the head of Barry’s dick. 

That’s hot, Barry thinks, Victor spit all over his cock. It’s hot. Really hot. Barry really needs Victor inside him now.

He doesn’t have to wait much longer. There’s pressure around his ass, than the head, then with a tight push, Victor’s in. 

And yeah, it hurts, spit really isn’t as good as lube, but it’s also really good, too. The friction is good, not amazing but good, and Barry lets his head fall between his chest.

“I’ve never fucked a dude before, so go easy on me,” Victor growls out, before he starts to move in and out of Barry. His hands finds Victor’s shoulders and use them to pull Barry in close. 

“You don’t know,” he growls out, the words like music to Barry’s ears, “how hot the sight of my cock going in and out of you is.”

 

Barry can imagine it. He wants to see it too but he understands, understands how Victor can’t look at Barry’s face, that he has some kind of emotional turmoil going through his head as he pounds into Barry. 

Everything feels so good, from Victor jerking him off while also fucking him, to the way the carpet feels across his knees and palms.

On a particular thirst, Victor hits a good spot inside of him, causing Barry’s knees to weaken and then he falls forward, his chest getting a burn from the way it rubs against the carpet.

Victor doesn’t stop though, instead just allows himself to mount Barry and push back inside. It’s a good angle, better than before, and Barry screams, his cries muffled. 

If anything, it causes Victor to continue his pounding, zeroing in on Barry’s prostate with every thrust, and Barry’s starting to cry, actual tears rolling down his face. 

It’s good, it’s hot, and Barry’s about to completely ruin the floor. 

“Your carpet,” he manages to raspt out, just as Barry’s other hand pinches his nipple, “I-i’m gonna-”

Surprisingly, Victor gets the message. “Fuck. Okay, okay hold on. Okay.” He flips them, somehow only letting his dick only escape Barry for just a moment, before Barry’s on his back, one leg thrown over his shoulder, and then Victor’s fucking him again. 

The feeling of Victor’s cock inside of him, hitting him his good spot over and over again, is just too much for Barry. He howls, spilling over Victor’s hand and stomach, and some of it spurts up and lands on his own chest.

Victor’s not far behind. He gets in a few more thrusts before he comes himself in the only way he can: shaking, gasping, stuttering his whole body to a stop.

Barry gasps as he feels it, his mind going blank. He feels weightless, like he’s on cloud 9, burning and touching the stars and the wind, picking him and swifting him away.

“Still not gay?” he rasps.

“Shut up,” Victor growls. He gets off Barry, grabs his pants, and kicks them on. 

Barry’s sticky and sweaty, and he really wants to take a shower. But he can tell Victor has used up all his “Patience for Barry” and he clearly wants Barry gone. 

So he yanks on his own clothes, winching as his dries come runs the inside of his shirt. “I won’t tell anyone,” Barry says gently, looking down.

“It’s not that,” Victor begins then stops. “I just had sex with you Barry. I need to process, okay?” 

Nodding, Barry heads for the door.

“Wait.”

His breath catches and he spins, his eyes hopeful. “Yes?”

“Are you okay?”

And it’s the first time anyone has asked him after sex. They all had assumed he was fine, but Victor knows and his heart swells. 

Is he okay? Well he doesn’t feel awful, that’s for damn sure. He feels good, great even. Will he regret this? He doesn’t think so. All he has to do is fuck Clark now, and he’ll feel even better.

He’s okay, he decides. He nods. “Yeah. See you later?”

Victor nods. “Yes. Oh and Barry?”

One hand is on the doorknob but Barry waits. “Yes?” 

“Don’t avoid the others. They worry about you.”

Barry snorts. “I’m sure they do.” He leaves, the door slamming behind him.

Victor did not have the right, the fucking right, to talk to him about the team caring about him! It was different with Victor, he sent out have sex with him, but the others? The others came after him. 

He huffs and runs home, only he’s not running, he’s RUNNING, and there’s a difference. He only stops to properly put on his suit and then he’s zooming around, and it’s good, better than good. He feels like his whole body is floating down a river, relaxed and happy.  
\-----

Barry takes two more days before he caves and calls Diana. He settles into his bean bag chair and takes his Squirtle onto his lap. He’s already crying by the time Diana answers. 

“Barry?”

“Diana,” he nearly sobs. He sniffles and swipes at his nose, his fingers playing with a loose thread. “Hi.”

“Oh, Barry. We miss you.” 

“I miss you, too.” The tears won’t stop coming now. 

“When will you come home, Barry?”

Barry sniffles again and clings to his toy. “I have something I need to do first, Diana. Things aren’t good yet but I’m going to fix it. Just give me a week, two tops.”

“But Barry . . . Barry are you okay?”

No, he wasn’t. He felt broken and confused but also like his whole body was on fire. He was exhillierated, ready to go and fix this whole mess.

“Yes, of course. I-I just-”

It’s quiet for a few seconds on both ends. Barry’s throat constricts and he sniffled. “Um, Diana?”

“Yes, Barry?”

He hesitates, fiddles with his beanbag. “Um. I love you.”

And he hopes she understands that he means as a friend, not as anything else and that they can’t ever do anything like they did ever again. 

But she gets it, she does, because she’s not just Wonder Woman. She’s Diana. 

“Oh, Barry. I love you, too. Please come home.”

His heart breaks. He misses her so much, so much. “I will, D. Soon, I promise. I gotta go.”

“Oh, okay. Barry, call me again, okay? If I can’t see you, I want to hear from you.”

“I promise, I will. I might even call Bruce,” he jokes, a half sob caught in his throat. He won’t, but it feels good to joke. 

“Goodbye, Barry.”

“Bye, D.”


	5. Clark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up that I got a little creative with Clark's biology here. If that's not your thing, feel free to skip this chapter. Barry's clearly working through some things here. One more chapter to go though!

His suit is a nice one. It fits perfectly. He went to a tailor this time, bought a real nice, fitting suit, not one he just found in his closest. 

Barry adjusts the tie, slides the knot around his neck, looks into the mirror. His hair, usually untamed and running in every direction, is tidy against his scalp, and as he runs his hands through it, feels smooth and unknotted. 

His collar is tucked nicely against his neck, his leg pants ending just before his dress shoes. He slowly breathes out.

“Don’t cry,” he tells himself. “Don’t, Barry.”

The Flash doesn’t cry. Sometimes Barry wishes he could be Flash all the time. Just saving people and running, always running. Barry (himself) cries, always cries, from sex, to a phone call with Diana. The Flash, a better, newer version of himself, doesn’t cry over a phone call. 

Despite his warning to himself, a few tears escape. He sniffles, watching in the mirror as the tears fall. He grabs a tissue, but it doesn’t stop. He keeps crying, and crying, knowing the Flash wouldn’t do this. 

The only thing that stops him from crying is his alarm going off, reminding him that he has to get to the jail. 

Barry checks himself one more time, makes sure his hair’s good, then leaves.   
\----

“You dress up to see some girl?” The man behind him in line sneers at him, exposing yellow, unkempt teeth. 

Barry doesn’t answer at first, instead choosing to scan his head up to see how many more people ahead of him in the check in line. 

“No,” he answers eventually, though really, it’s none of this big, burly dude’s business.

The line, full of chatter, does nothing to calm Barry down. He’s not anxious, but he is ready to see his dad and get this whole day over with. 

“You a queer then?” The man, who Barry was starting to get very annoyed at, nudges his shoulder against Barry’s back.

He could have avoided that, easily, but today was not the day. 

He turns around, faces the man and . . . snaps. “So what if I’m fucking am?” 

It actually takes the man by surprise, forcing him to step back as Barry steps into him. “Does it fucking matter? Huh? You gonna beat me up? So you can end up here, with whatever one of your drug buddies you’re visiting today? Try it.”

The whole line goes silent. Up ahead, the old check in man glares down at them. One of three security guards struts over to them, his eyes taking in the whole scene. 

“There an issue here, fellas?” He looks between Barry and the bald man, who was starting at Barry in surprise. 

“No,” Barry says evenly. “At least, there isn’t one with me. You?” He directs it at his offender. 

“No,” the man draws out eventually. “Me and the homo just messing around here.”

“Then keep it down, buddies. You.” The security guard nudges Barry’s arm. “You’re up. Check in.” 

Barry makes a point to keep staring down the man but signs in at last and heads to see his dad. 

He’s still fuming as he walks into the visitor room, but it melts away once he sees his dad. Today, even his dad looks worse than usual. The bags under his eyes seemed to have tripled in size, and his jumpsuit, which usually fit fine, seemed to be swimming on him. 

But he still smiles at his son, taking him into his arms and Barry borrows his head into his dad’s chest. They separate before they can get yelled at by the security guard, and both sit on the plastic chairs.

“Hey, kiddo,” his dad greets. 

Barry, realizing he’s about to cry, clears his throat and smiles, though it’s watery. “Hi, Dad.” 

His father looks him over, the same thing he always does when he sees his son, just to make sure he’s well fed, and not about to pass out. 

It always make Barry wonder how anyone could think his dad murdered his mom. Not when, despite being in jail, still makes sure his kid is doing fine. 

“You got my letter?” his father asks. 

Barry smiles, taps his suit pocket. “I’ll read it to her, set it on the grave.” 

“Thank you, my boy.”  
His dead reaches to touch him, but is stopped by the security guard who shouts out, “No touching!” 

Touching was only allowed at the beginning and end of the visits, and they weren’t going to risk getting their privileges taken away.

“And you’re doing good, though?” His dad brings the conversation back to him, always wondering how is son was. 

Barry thinks about Bruce, and Diana, and Arthur and Vic, and his plans for later but shakes his head because his work isn’t too bad, and he’s doing some good as the Flash, so he can’t really say he’s doing bad. 

Maybe not good, but okay. 

“Okay,” he answers. “I’m doing okay. I miss you.”

It’s been years but he still can’t live without his dad. He will always miss his dad, that’s a given fact, and today makes it especially worse. 

“Miss you, too, bud. But don’t let me hold you back. You got a real job now, Barry. And some real friends, too. You don’t-”

“Dad.” He doesn’t want to argue, not today, but why does his dad always insist that Barry doesn’t him? Barry will always need his dad. “Not today, okay? I’m never gonna give up on you.” 

Any other day, his dad would sigh, shake his head, and tell Barry he was wasting his time. But today? Today was an in all truce kind of day, so his dad just smiles at him. 

“Make sure you read her the letter, okay?”

“Okay, I promise I will.”

Barry wishes he could lean into his father, let his dad cup his face while he closes his eyes and breathes in his dad’s smell and never let go. 

“You better get a move on.” Mr. Allen gestures to the clock on the wall. Barry glances himself and nods, and then they both stand up. His dad clung to him, Barry’s head resting in the crook of his shoulder. 

“Enough hugging!” 

Reluctantly, they pull apart. “Be good, my son.”  
\------

My Love, 

There’s so much I wish to say to you but I’m confined to the pages of this letter. With that being said, I don’t think I could imagine not saying anything to you on this day. 

Some days I just sit in my cell and I think of you. Of your hair, your smile, our son. There’s days where I walk in a blur because my mind is too focused on you. To say I miss you puts it so lightly. I don’t just miss you. I need you. 

They still think I murdered you, everyone but my son. But could I have ever laid a hand on you? I loved you too much to even raise my voice at you. Remember that time I spent all night making a birthday cake for Barry’s eight birthday? And I let you take it out of the oven, only for you to drop it all over the floor. 

I suppose a lesser man would have shouted, screamed, but though I was mad, seeing the look on your face hurt me, because you were feeling so bad already. 

Nethertheless, our boy is on the case. He’s got a real job now, working at a lab, and he even has some friends now, too. If only you could see him, you’d be so proud. 

I want him to drop this case, to put everything in his past and just move on, because if he keeps holding onto the past, then he can’t move forward. But he’s so stubborn, just like you are. Were. He’s adamant he can get me out. And who knows, maybe he can? Kid’s smart, smarter than I ever was. He’s very much your son.

I’m afraid I’m getting close to the limit of this letter. One day, when I’m not confined behind bars, I’ll write you a letter so long that it’ll take two people to deliver it to you. But for now, I’m afraid this is goodbye. 

Your heart, though no longer beats, will forever be in my own, which will only ever beat for you. 

With my love. 

\----

The graveyard is quiet. There’s no other mourners, and his mom’s grave is in the far back of the graveyard. They added more patches in recent years, more graves up front. Hardly anyone comes to the back of the graveyard. 

Nethertheless, these graves are still taking cared of by the groundskeeper, and Barry’s mom’s grave isn’t covered in twigs or stones, which is very nice. His mother’s grave could have been a forgotten thing, lost in the past. But it wasn’t. 

Barry wipes at his eyes, but he doesn’t even feel guilty about it this time. He cries for his mom, for his dad, but for him, too. Because God, does he miss her. He’d do anything to have her back. To have his dad out of jail. 

To go back in time to make sure none of this happened. To stop the murder and the framing of his dad, to have a happy childhood. 

But he can’t time travel. 

“Dad still loves you, Momma.” He sniffles again as he sets down the flowers on the grave, and then the letter on top. 

The wind blows hard, it’s a chilly day, and he hears some twigs snaps. He pauses, sniffles once more, and glances up. 

He’s not alone. There’s somebody there, leaning against a tree a few feet away, staring . . . staring at him. Barry’s eyes narrow and he steps forward, ready to run if needed. The masked figure starts to walker closer and Barry’s prepared to run, ready to go. 

But at the man comes into life, he can see that it’s just Clark. 

“What . . .” Barry clears his throat, shakes his head. “What are you doing here?”

Clark was dressed in his usual work clothes, glasses snugly against his nose. He was handsome, as always, and Barry had wanted to see him, obviously, but not today, not on the anniversary of his mother’s murder. 

“The team was concerned about you,” Clark answers gently. He pats Barry’s shoulder. “They knew about today, wanted to make sure you weren’t alone.”

But why Clark? Why him? Of everyone, Barry would have said Diana, or Bruce even. Clark? They never really hung out much without Diana or Lois being there, that one race being about it. So why? Unless . . . 

“You know.” It’s not a question. Clark knew. 

Clark nods, confirming what Barry already knew. “Yeah. I do.” 

“What do you . . . how . . . I-” 

The beginning of a panic attack was starting to hit him. He hates them, but he can’t do anything, just try to breathe and not give in. 

“Woah, Barry!” Clark grabs Barry’s shoulders but Barry shakes them off.

“So they all know?”

“Barry-”

“No! Tell me what you know!” 

He’s gonna puke, but he won’t do it on his mother’s grave. He steps to the side, away from the graves, but his head was still spinning out. 

“I know you slept with Bruce. And Diana. Arthur, too, and Victor as well. All of them. And . . . and they all know you slept with everyone, as well. Everyone but me.”

Barry pukes on the ground. Once he catches his breath, he spins around back to Clark. “Why’d you come here?” he demands but his throat was so hoarse that it came out as a croak. 

“I told you,” Clark answers gently, stepping forward to Barry. “We didn’t want you to be alone and they thought I’d be the one best to talk to you.” 

“Because I haven’t had sex with you.” It’s snarky, and mean, but they had no right, no fucking right to do this to him, on today of all days.

Clark doesn’t answer. He just stares at Barry, shakes his head, steps forward again despite Barry taking another step back. 

“Barry, I’m sorry-”

Barry’s gone. One beat, two, then three. In a flash.  
\-----

It was different with Victor. He told Victor himself, told him he slept with everyone but Clark, he wanted him to know. But Clark knowing means they’ve all talked about it, behind his back. They all know about each other and that’s fucked up because that is none of their business. 

On the day of his mother’s death anniversary. 

Fuck, some friends they are. 

He takes off the suit, being careful not to wrinkle it, then hangs it in his closest. He took the whole day off today, and he had planned to go to his mom’s favorite restaurant, and he will later but right now he’s pissed off. 

After he chucks on some sweats, he hops onto his bean bag chair and clutches his phone. Anger courses through him. He practically punches in Diana’s contact name. He holds it to his ear, resisting the urge to run down to her apartment. 

She picks up on the second ring. “Barry, are you alright? How are you-”

“You,” he seethes, “had no right! What, you got off on telling everyone?”

“Barry-”

“No, don’t interrupt! You didn’t know about Bruce, Bruce didn’t know about you guys, you guys didn’t know about Arthur and vice versa, Victor knew about everyone but it wasn’t like he was going to tell, so why, Diana? Why?” 

There is silence on the phone, and he half expects her to hang up, but that’s not like Diana.

“Barry,” she says eventually, “I did not tell anyone, I promise you that. But Barry, it was not hard to put pieces together. Bruce suddenly wouldn’t look at you, and you would just keep looking at him with this look in your eye. It wasn’t just me. I’m sure even Albert knew.”

“Maybe I can give you that one,” he admits, then pauses because even the butler knows? “But-”

“We were worried about you,” she interrupts him, and he imagines her pacing the floor. Maye running a hand through her hair. “You were missing so many meetings, not talking to any of us . . . We all had our ideas but it wasn’t long before eventually the truth came out. From all of us.” 

Barry’s heart squeezes and his knees start to shake. He’s glad he’s sitting down. He might crumble. 

“So you sent Clark? I don’t-” 

“We didn’t want you to be alone today but we also agreed since . . . we agreed Clark was the best to talk to.” 

At that, Barry just laughs. He laughs into the phone, ignoring whatever Diana says. He laughs so hard his throat constricts. In reality, it’s not funny, not even, but the fact that the team talked about him, behind his fucking back! 

And here he was, thinking they were his friends! How could he be so stupid? He continues laughing, manages to get out a, “Fuck you,” to Diana over the phone, before ending the call. 

It’s only when he hangs up does everything come crashing down onto him. He gasps loudly, feels his heart try to beat out of his chest. His chest hurts, and his heads, his ears too, they keep ringing and ringing. 

“Fuck,” he gasps. 

He doesn’t have any friends. He doesn’t have his mother. Or his father, really. He doesn’t have teammates. He’s by himself, again, just like it was most of his life. 

Only this time he got attached. He let himself have friends. Took comfort in Diana’s smile, and the way Bruce shook his head and called him, “Kid.” The way Arthur teased him but had no real malice behind it, the way Victor would roll his eyes and sigh, but fight a smile at Barry’s antics. 

They were there and they were real. They were his friends. He got used to the idea of having somebody there for him, of getting his ass out of trouble, saving him from danger. Of just going to them when he’s bored. 

Fuck, he hadn’t had friends since he was 9. The kids kind of stopped liking him once everyone thought he was the son of a murderer. 

But Bruce? Diana and Arthur? Victor and Clark? Those weren’t just schoolaryard friends. They were his everything. And Barry knows that sounds cliche but at this point in his life, they were everything. 

But then they talked about him behind his back, told each other about having sex with him, none of their business, and it hurts, it fucking hurts. 

Not his friends anymore. 

“Oh,” Barry moans, his head pounding and heart hammering. It’s getting hard to breath, and the walls are starting to close in on him. 

And the fucked up part is that he fucking misses them. The weeks he spent away from them was a nightmare. He wanted to call all of them every night. He misses them so much. 

(He’s never going to talk to them ever again.)

They can be the Justice League without him. They can save the world and stop big bad villains. Barry can stick to the small stuff, the vigilante stuff. 

The other day, he saved a young woman from a car didn’t he? Iris, he thinks her name was. That’s what’s he meant to be. A small timehero. He doesn’t need to be with the others, doesn’t want to be at this point. 

(God, he’s a liar who lies, isn’t he?) 

“Fuck,” he whimpers, and then promptly passes out. 

When Barry wakes up, he doesn’t feel the beads of his bean bag chair. What he does feel is the firmness of his mattress, the head of his pokemon doll presses again his cheek. There’s a hand in his hair, gently going through it. 

He screams. 

Clark doesn’t register at first. In Barry’s mind, it’s a blurry shadow. Barry’s across the room in seconds, throwing the bean bag chair at Clark. (The first thing he saw, really.)

 

“Who are you?” 

It’s only when Clark swats the bean bag chair away and Barry’s eyes adjust from being asleep, does Barry recognize the nerdy glasses and curly black hair.

“Clark?” Barry gasps. “Dude, what the hell! What the actual fuck-!”

“Clam down.” Clark stands and stretches. 

Barry sighs and walks back towards his bed. He glares at the offender and crosses his arms. “What are you doing here?” 

“I followed you,” Clark answers simply, as if what he just said made complete sense and wasn’t creepy at all. “Good thing I did. You had a panic attack on your chair. I moved you to your bed so you wouldn’t hurt your back.” 

Clark adjusts his glasses and sighs. “I’m sorry, but I’m glad I did. I saw through your walls and I just got scared for you.” 

“It still doesn’t give you the right-Oh my god! What time is it!” 

No. No no no no no. He couldn’t-he wouldn’t have-

“Almost eight. You’ve been asleep for a few hours.” 

Barry screeches and reaches for his phone. 

Two miss calls from 555-437-2617. Alice’s Restaurant. 

He missed his reservation. 

It’s only when Clark wraps his arms around him and pulls Barry into his chest does Barry realize he’s crying. 

When he was a kid, before his mom died, Alice’s Restaurant was where they went for every occasion. Birthday’s. Anniversaries. Christmas, Thanksgiving, it was open 24/7. His parents even took him their to cheer him up after the death of his grandmother. 

He only goes once a year now, this day, and has been since he turned 16. He never missed it. 

And now he did and it feels like a slap to his mother’s memory. 

“Shhh, shhh. It’s okay, Barry. It’s okay.” 

Clark, Clark who’s not his friend Clark, rubs smooth circles into Barry’s back, making little shhh noises as he tries to calm Barry down. It doesn’t work and Barry continues to sob so Clark picks Barry up and sits down on the bed. Barry curls into Clark, wrapping his arms around Clark’s neck and barring his head in his neck. 

“Baby boy, please calm down.”

He stops sobbing, but not because Clark asked him to. Because that name sent an electric shock through him. Barry unwraps his arm from Clark’s neck and sniffles. Clark, surprised from the sudden stop of tears, hesitantly reaches for the tissues. 

“You good?” 

Barry accepts the tissue and blows his nose. He stands up and so does Clark. Barry tosses the tissue into the wastebasket, flushes when he remembers Arthur . . .

“I missed my reservation,” Bary answers. “It’s not really a restaurant you need a reservation for, but I’ve been going there on this date for years now. It . . It was my mom’s favorite restaurant. I-”

Clark nods and pats Barry’s back gently. “You had a long day, kid. It’s gonna be okay, though.” 

“Baby boy,” Barry says suddenly. “You-you called me that.” 

To his credit, Clark doesn’t blush or make it sexual. He says, “Sorry. Just a term of endearment. I call Lois baby girl sometimes.” 

Oh. My God. Barry’s face heats up. He so did not need to know what Clark calls Lois. 

Clark sees Barry’s face and his own goes up in flame. “Not like that,” he says but there’s this . . . this tone to his voice, that says he’s not exactly telling the truth. 

“Yes.” Barry licks his lips, his heart skipping a beat. He’s taking a risk here. “Yes, you do. Don’t you?” 

It’s inappropriate, really. His mother died today, years ago, and he was sobbing over missing a dinner reservations. Even he knows he’s not exactly stable, and his mind is in a thousand different places these past few weeks (or years, really) but this is what he needs. 

A good fucking distraction. Literally. 

“Um.” Clark scratches his head, and Barry wonders what the world would say if they could see Superman, Earth’s savior, blushing beat red and dwindling his thumbs. “Ma-maybe I do? I-” 

“So it’s sexual?” 

“Barry!” Clark’s face flushes again, and he reaches up to wipe sweat off his forehead. “I, um, it’s not, Barry-” 

Barry licks his lips. He could be taking a risk, for what he wants to say next, and it’ll be inappropriate as hell . . But- “I’d let you call me that.” A beat. “Baby boy, I mean. You’d can call me that.” 

“Barry-” 

“Please. Clark, please?”

Clark groans, but his pants are bulging, showing how he really feels about the whole situation. “You were just crying,” he argues. “Because you missed a dinner reservation. On your mom’s death anniversary. Barry, you need help.”

Shaking his head, Barry pushes Clark gently back down onto the bed and then, after only a moment's hesitation, sits back down onto Clark’s lap.

“Barry, I’m with Lois.” 

Barry nods, already planning for this. “I know. I know. But when was the last time you’ve been with a man? I mean, don’t you and Lois have that deal? You get to be with men and she can still be with woman. Right? That’s your relationship?” 

Clarks starts. “How did you find out?” 

Barry shrugs. “Arthur told me. Said he managed to wrangle it out of you.” Frustrated, Barry grinds down into Clark’s lap. “Does it matter?”

“Yes, Barry. It does. I’d be taking advantage of you.”

Barry shakes his head and grabs onto Clark’s shoulder to grind down again, feeling something hard against his lap. “It’s be a great distraction.” 

Somewhere, Barry knows this isn’t him. His mind is elsewhere, zipping and passing through time and space. This Barry is one of extreme issues, where he knows he needs help but knows that Clark fucking him will distract him from everything that’s going on in his life. 

“This is wrong.” 

Rolling his eyes, Barry reaches down between his legs and squeezes Clark’s covered cock. “If you want me to stop, I will. It doesn’t feel like it, but I will stop.” 

There’s this small, tiny moment where Barry thinks Clark’s going to throw him off his lap and fly him to a therapist office. Then he’s gonna tell the whole team and Barry will be officially kicked off the Justice League. 

But then Clark’s bucking into Barry’s hand, straining his neck so he can kiss Barry’s neck. Right away, Barry knows this is gonna be hard, rough, and filthy. His cock’s already rock hard, pressed into Clark’s lap. 

Clark moves his neck from Barry’s neck to his mouth. His lips were chapped, rough against Barry’s but arousing. Barry imagines where else those lips could go. It wouldn’t be soft, Barry thinks. Clark’s lips around him would be almost scale like, but good. 

Clark bites down on Barry’s lips and suddenly Barry’s pressed down onto his bed, his head slamming down onto his pillows. He groans, feeling precum wet his underwear. Somewhere, the rational part of his brain was telling him how wrong this was, but Clark’s already tugging down Barry’s sweatpants. 

“So good, baby. So good.”

Next is his shirt, than his undergarments. Then Clark’s naked, and on top of Barry. “Wait, wait,” he says and Barry whines. 

Haven’t they just got over the, “We should be doing this?” thing? 

“Do you have any duct tape?” 

Barry blinks on confusion, the words not registering at first. But then Clark’s looking at him, hovering over and Barry can feel the rush of anticipation course through his belly. 

“By the computers, third drawer.” 

The warmth of Clark’s body leaves him, and Barry gets to watch as his ass bounces as he walks for the drawer. As he leans over, Barry’s breath catches as he catches glance of Clark’s cock. How has he never noticed it before? 

It was . . . impossibly large. Alien large. Thick too, almost comical. But he could handle that. What he catches a glimpse of sends him aching between his legs. Tiny little . . . suction cups line both sides of it, opening up and down. They weren’t really suction cups, but that was really the only word Barry could think of to describe it. 

How did Lois handle this?

But then Clark’s walking back, holding a roll of duct tape and Barry’s stomach clenches in anticipation. 

“Be still for me, baby boy. Be a good boy.” 

Clark takes Barry’s hands and duct tapes them together. Then he pushing them above Barry’s head. 

“Um.” Barry tries to blink and clear his head. “The lube is in that drawer.” He points. 

Clark chuckles, but it’s not light or airy. It’s dark, just like his usual light eyes. “We won’t need it.” 

The thought of being taken dry horrifies Barry, but excites him too. It’ll hurt, but the pain will feel good . . . But he could rip and tear, too. 

Clark must sees the turmoil on Barry’s face because he chuckles again. “Not like that. Although that would be exciting, wouldn’t it? Hmm, maybe for another day.” 

And then Clark’s wrapping a hand around himself, and Barry can only watch as the suction cups latch on. Clark groans loudly but releases himself and holds up his hand to Barry’s face. It’s almost completely wet. 

“Natural lube?” Barry gasps, his hips thrusting up. 

“Something like that. Move over.” 

Barry does just that, groaning as he feels Clark’s . . . whatever it was . . . rub against his legs. It’s not gonna fit, he thinks. It’s not. 

“I’m going to make you feel good,” Clark promises, adjusting himself so that he rests his weight on his hands that were placed on both sides of Barry’s body. His cock is so close to Barry’s unprepped entrance. “Promise, baby boy. So good.” 

“It’s not gonna fit,” Barry babbles, his head shaking. He reaches but his arms are still duct taped together. 

“It will, it always does.” Clark leaves a sloppy wet kiss on Barry’s cheek before touching Barry with the head of his cock. (It’s roughly a cock, anyway.) 

“Oh god,” Barry whines and weather it’s because he’s scared or impossibly turned on is hard to tell. 

“Shh. Let Daddy take care of you.” 

Did Clark just say what Barry thinks he says? Because it sounded suspiciously like “Daddy.” The word distracts Barry and he gaps loudly when Clark pushes into him. 

It should hurt. Barry hasn’t had any lube or prep and Clark is huge. But it doesn’t. In fact, he can feel the trail of wetness all the way inside of him. He gasps again and desperately wished his hands weren’t tied so he could run them down Clark’s back. 

Clark laughs, as if reading Barry’s mind, and wraps his own hand around Barry’s and holds them down above his head. “Be a good boy,” he orders. 

Barry moans and that’s when he feels the suction cup like things. They open and press against his insides, causing a delicious kind of friction he never felt before.

“Oh my god,” he mumbles, his eyes squeezing shut. 

Clark doesn’t move. “Feels good?” 

“Yes. God, yes. Clark please.” 

But Clark justs kisses the spot where Barry’s neck and shoulder meet. “Call me Daddy,” he whispers. “Please? Can you do that for me, baby boy?” 

And god, Barry never had a daddy kink. A praise kink maybe, but the thought of calling a grown dude daddy just never exactly ticked his peach. But now, with an alien dick up his ass, and Clark’s pleading, beautiful eyes, how could he say no? 

“Daddy,” he whines, thrusting his hips up in ache of some sort of friction. “Daddy please, fuck me.” 

Clark groans, loudly, and then he moves out only to roughly push back in. Barry screams. The friction combined with the suction cups massaging him on the inside is just too much. It’s so good that it’s almost too good. Barry’s own cock is absolutely drenched with precum.

“Again, say it again.” 

“Daddy.” 

Barry watches as Clark goes absolutely insane. He fucks in and out of Barry harshly, meanwhile biting down onto Barry’s neck hard enough to leave some bruises. 

The best (maybe the worst) part is when Clark wraps a hand around Barry’s neck and squeezes. 

Barry’s never been fucked like this. Victor was roughed, but not to this point. Clark’s almost growling, and Barry just repeats, “Daddy, daddy, daddy!” over and over again.

Superman, savior of the world, world’s favorite superhero, likes to be called Daddy while he he fucks his partners. He likes biting, not just the neck but anywhere he can get his mouth on including lips, nipples, chest. 

The lack of oxygen has Barry’s head spinning to the point where he can only feel the suction cups inside him and the delicious feel of Clark’s dick hitting the same spot over and over and over. 

“Baby boy,” Clark growls, and then the one hand, the one that wasn’t wrapped around his neck, slaps over Barry’s mouth, thoroughly cutting off Barry’s next moan. “Touch yourself,” he demands. 

Barry goes straight for his cock and squeezes, yanking it up in harsh movements to match Clark’s painful thrusts.   
“That’s it,” Clark murmurs, leaving another bite mark on Barry’s chest. “Yes, come for Daddy. You can do that, won’t you? Make Daddy proud, baby boy. I need you to come for me.”

It’s really not hard, Barry discovers, not with Clark’s cock continually pounding him. The orgasm isn’t what it normally feels like. This one is different. It’s like his whole body is separated, atom from atom, and thrown into the sky only to be swept up from the stars.

It’s so fucking good, so different, and Barry thinks he’s coming far more than usual, longer too, and he really only stops when Clark grunts, “Fuck, baby boy,” and then spasms, and then Barry feels something that’s definitely NOT sperm inside him. 

For a split second, he thinks they’re anal beads, but they’re too small and too squishy, and too soft, too.

“Oh my god,” Barry gasps. “You-what-are those eggs?” 

Clark whimpers as he pulls out and Barry watches as the suction cups retreat back into the skin of Clark’s cock. Interesting. 

“Clark,” Barry demands, a hint of hysteria to his voice. Why didn’t they use a condom? Why didn’t Barry remember it?

“Yes, but they’re unfertilized. Humans, both female and male, lack the proper biology to fertilize them. They’re harmless and will fall out of you.”

Well, that’s good at least. He won’t be getting pregnant, which, for a split nano second, he honestly was worried was a real possibility. 

With that threat out of the way, all Barry can do is stare at Clark, who stares right back. Like, what do you say to a guy who just fucked you, demanded you called him daddy, then released eggs inside of you? 

“Um.” 

Clark bites his lip. “This is not what the team and I had in mind when I went to check in on you.” 

Barry snorts. Oh yeah. He had almost forgotten about his backstabbing friends. Ex-friends, now. “I’m sure,” he says sarcastically, rolling his eyes and sitting up. 

In result, the eggs do roll out of him, five of them, all little and pink, and wet. To think, that if his biology matched Clark’s, those could have been his children. 

That was so totally a conversation for another day. 

For now, Clark was looking at him, something akin to pity, and Barry just could not right now. 

“Don’t. Don’t do that.” 

“Barry-”

“It was fine, I wanted it, it was great, there’s no issue here!” Frustrated, Barry holds out his hands and Clark sighs but uses his x-ray vision to cut through the tape. Hands finally free, Barry sighs and throws the broken tape away. 

“Barry, you don’t understand. You’re clearly not in the right mind and I just took advantage of you!” Clark throws his hand through his hair and adjusts his glasses.

“I’m in the right mind!” Barry, suddenly frustrated, reaches for his deserted sweats and yanks them back up. “You have no idea how my mind is!” 

“Yes I do! And you haven’t been you in weeks!” 

Barry shakes his head and practically punches his shirt on. He wasn’t aware Clark and apparently everyone else knew what he was thinking. “Don’t treat me like I’m your friend! You have no real concern for me! You just pity me. It’s not your right to come here and just start screaming at me!” 

He’s waiting for a yell back but he doesn’t get one. Clark just stares at him, and there’s something on his face that’s not pity but Barry can’t place. 

“If that’s how you really feel,” Clark says eventually, but his voice cracks on the last word, “then I’ll just go.”

And Barry wants to scream no, to make Clark stay, but what he says instead of is, “Good! And tell the others to leave me alone, as well. I never want to speak to any of them again.” 

Clark shakes his head. Barry feels like at this point he might just start sobbing again. “Okay, Barry, if that’s what you want.” 

And then Clark’s getting dressed and then he’s at the door and he pauses but Barry doesn’t stop him, and then in one beat, Clark’s gone, and the rest of the team, too.


	6. And For Awhile There, I thought We Were Going To Have To Just Accept Things As They Were

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, a few things. I’m not really too familiar with the DC universe. (Now marvel, that’s a different story.) I’ve only ever seen a few movies and I go off what I see online, too. (Like Batman’s sons.) So if there is a few inconsistencies or if anything feels out of character, I apologize. I did intentionally mess around with some plot in this chapter though. 
> 
> Also, some you may notice I took out the very beginning of this fic. Originally, I had something else in mind for the ending but I realized writing this that it just wasn't going to fit for what I wanted to happen so I had to delete it. However, it doesn't affect the overall story and newer readers won't even realize it's gone. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks for sticking with me this long, and for putting up with all the inconsistent updates. This is the first story I wrote in so long and I really appreciate all the comments and kudos. Thank you for reading!

The rain didn’t seem like it was going to let up anytime fast. Rain didn’t exactly affect Barry in the way people thought. Since it was less like actual running and more like time freezing, giving him time to move between paces, it wasn’t like the rain pelted him down. 

Still, it was mucky enough outside that Barry didn’t feel like being the Flash. Which was weird, because the past few days, he’s been the Flash for every second he wasn’t sleeping, working, or eating. Being the Flash helped get his mind off the past few months, and recently, the past few days. 

Barry watches as the rain continues to pour. He doesn’t even want to go out like that anyway, and he doubts too many criminals would be out, too. 

But, for the first time in days, it means he has time to think, and well, that’s something he’s really been avoiding. 

“I really need friends,” he huffs to himself, ignoring the fact that he had them and then he lost them. 

Turning on the police scanner he has hooked up to his computer, he’s proved right. Nobody was out at 7 at night, not in this weather. Still, he keeps it on and decides to get some work from home done. 

He kicks off his shoes and settles against his desk. There were so many computers up and running but his professional computer was front and center. His lab work needed to come first if he had any hope of getting his dad out or prison. 

Barry sets to work, typing up results and experiments, and he’s so concentrated that he barely registers the police scanner: “All units responding, we have alien activity going down in central park. Justice League currently fighting, back up waiting, some officers down.” 

He freezes, his hands on his keyboard, ready to finish up his report. They don’t need help, he tells himself, but it leaves an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. They don’t though, right? Because there’s the police there, too, and the league are more than able to fight without him. 

He wasn’t even that useful to the team. 

But . . . 

It’s stupid, he realizes. He doesn’t want to see them because it’d mean having to face them all, but is he willing to put the lives of people at risk because he’s being selfish? 

His squirtle feels like it’s judging him. 

“They don’t need me,” Barry says as he swirls his chair around, ignoring the heavy feeling in his stomach. 

He doesn’t get a response back, but it wasn’t like he expected one. 

“How bad could it be?” 

He doesn’t have cable, but the news stations always have live feeds on their websites. He finds one and clicks on it, then holds his breath. At first, he’s not quite sure what it is he’s seeing. Vines wrapping around the city, trees and plants growing where they shouldn’t be.

Then it cuts to the park where the League is fighting a woman in green, but wait, not in green, but of green. Poison Ivy. The police got it wrong. Poison Ivy wasn’t an alien, she was a villain, one who Barry never personally faught.

He sees something fly over some plants near the swings and realizes it’s Clark- Superman-flying over head, but to everyone’s surprise, vines easily wrap around him. Then there’s Wonder Woman too, roping them up in her lasso and pulling it tight. Barry watches as the camera zooms in to show the veins releasing Superman.

Poison Ivy was powerful, but Barry doesn’t think she was ever this powerful. Something was different. And she never usually did direct attacks like this either, not that he knew of. 

Still . . . “They don’t need me,” Barry whispers to himself, his stomach dropping. 

Well. It wouldn’t hurt them if he showed up to help, exactly, would it?

But it might hurt him. He doesn’t know if he’s able to face them. How do you face all the people who had sex with in one room, with them all knowing you had sex with everyone? You just don’t. 

“Fuck.” 

He’s being entirely selfish and he knows he is. But he’s not ready to face them. 

They need his help though . . . 

He wouldn’t have to talk to them, he thinks. He could help and then bounce out. That wasn’t a bad idea, so he suits up and speeds out, his heart hammering in his chest and feeling like he was going to pass out. 

\-----

The good news? When he arrives in the park, he doesn’t see any type of bugs or anything else he’s afraid of but it’s still dark and it’s hard to see the vines and plants anyway.

The bad news? He snaps a vine that has somehow managed to wrap itself around a policeman’s leg, helps the man go, only to hear the cry of, “Flash!” And then there’s a hand patting him on the back, the only contact Bruce seems to allow in public, but then Barry shrugs out of it. 

He looks at the ground, away from Bruce, when he says, “I’m just here to help.” 

He feels like he’s going to vomit, and maybe he will, because it’s Bruce with those eyes and the way he looks at Barry manages to make his stomach drop and he can't even deny how much he misses Bruce and everyone else.

They don’t get time to say much more. There’s so much he wants to say, so much he needs to stay, but there’s no time for it, and he doesn’t think he’d be able to get them out, anyway.

Poison Ivy is in the heart of the park, but oddly enough, she’s really not paying anyone any attention. Her focus seems elsewhere, as if the League are just little inconveniences in her grand scheme. She seems to be waiting, occasionally batting away any advances somebody makes on her. 

She’s still dangerous, Barry knows, and he knows her plants are, too. What if she after? What’s around here? Some buildings, a couple cafe, but the park really doesn’t have much, just a few manholes, some openings to the sewers . . . 

Barry doges Victor’s eyes, instead choosing to rip off more vines. They go without a fight, which is something odd too. 

The sewers.

But what’s in the sewers? There’s no plants underground, no flowers or trees, no nature. Why, the only thing Barry can think is underground is Croc, but he’s incredibly hard to capture and what would Poison Ivy want with him?

Unless . . .

“Hey, Batman,” Barry calls, ducking a tree branch that was thrown at him. Ivy’s eyes are suddenly trained on him, not even paying attention to Arthur, who just drowned half of her plants. “This is a distraction!” 

Batman, currently in the mix of wrestling some bystanders out of some vines, looks up, frowning. “What?” 

“She’s after Croc! We have to-”

As soon as he says the words, he’s entangled in what feels like a million vines. They wrap around his mouth, nose, eyes, and his body. They pull tight, cutting off his oxygen, and he’s fast but not really strong, and he can’t fight his way out. 

He gasps, kicks, but something hard and fast knocks across the back of his head and the last thing he remembers is the look of complete and utter terror on Diana’s face before he blacks out.

\------

He doesn’t recognize where he is when he wakes up, but he guesses it’s some sort of hospital. He’s in a hospital bed, anyway.

His head feels like it’s full of cotton, pounding against his skull, and he notices the IV attached to his arm. He can’t remember what happened, but he does recognize a sleeping Arthur in the chair across from him.

“Arthur,” he croaks, but it barely comes out a whisper. He groans and reaches for the cup of water on the bedside table. 

It feels good against his throat, and his chapped lips. He manages to clear his throat and try again. “Arthur.” It comes out louder this time, enough to startle the other man awake. 

“Barry. Hey.” Arthur walks to his side and helps Barry sits up. 

“What happened?” Barry really can’t remember anything but waking up this morning, and he really can’t remember how the hell he ended up in some hospital room. With Arthur? That part concerned him the most.

Arthur rubs his beard before answering. “We were fighting Poison Ivy and she knocked a tree against ya head.” He laughs, the sound not ugly against Barry’s own ears. “You were right though, but unfortunately we didn’t figure it out in time. She was just causing a distraction long enough for Harley Quinn to get Croc out the sewers, and then the three of them bounce. Luckily, the vines and shit went with Ivy, so there wasn’t much to clean up.”

Barry rolls this information over his head. Come to think of it, he vaguely remembers vines, and maybe the green lady herself, but it’s mostly a blurr.

“I thought Walker had them all under tight security? Like, some sort of team or something?”

Arthur shrugs. “She did. But apparently Quinn escaped, then helped the others escape too. They all went their own ways. Walker tried to find them, but wasn't able to. They’re good.”

Barry shakes his head, them immediately regrets it as his head starts to pound. “This isn't good. I think they might be trying to put together their own team. If they work together without being under Walker’s control . . .” Barry lets the sentence hang in there.

“I know.” Arthur sighs, something he rarely does, and Barry knows this really is a big issue. “We all know. We wish we would have found out about this sooner. We don’t know what they want or who all is going to be into this merry band of villains, or how Poison Ivy got so powerful, but we figure it can wait for now. Right now, our biggest concern is you, kid.”

And really, Arthur really shouldn’t call him kid, not when his dick was up his ass, but Barry lets it goes for now. Now he’s thinking about the others, and this small hospital room, and how there’s surely a talk to come later. 

Arthur must see the panic on Barry’s face, the incoming of a panic attack, because he shakes his head and gently pushes Barry back into a lying position. “Relax, kid. Just sleep for now.” 

“But-”

“You’re exhausted. Just sleep, okay?”

He tries to say he’s really not tired, but his head still feels like it’s made of cotton, and once he relaxes back into the pillow, it really isn’t hard to fall back asleep.

\----

The next time he wakes up, nobody’s in the room and he’s dying of thirst. There’s no water next to him this time, and he groans loudly into the empty room. 

There’s a knock on the door and then Alfred pokes his head in. “Oh, good,” he says. “You’re up.”

Barry tries to sit up but winces in pain, causing Alfred to scurry into the room. “Oh, don’t, you’ll hurt yourself!” 

Alfred wraps a hand around Barry’s back, then another around his midsection and carefully helps him up. 

“I’ll go alert the others you are awake. It’s almost dinner time.”

Dinner time? Barry’s heads a bit clear since he last woke up, and he remembers more of what happened, but he remembers it being night when he got knocked out? How long was he gone for?

He thinks he said it outloud, because Alfred says, “Well let’s see, it was late night yesterday when you injured yourself, and now it’s 6pm, dinner time. So about half a day.”

Barry fucking chokes on his own spit. “Oh my god, I have to leave!” He needs to contact work, he can’t lose this job, he can’t-

“Relax, Mr. Allen. Bruce has already done so.” Great, so he said that out loud again. “Please, let me go get the others. You should be good to join us.” 

He leaves, leaving Barry to wonder since when does the team have fucking team dinners? Nonetheless, he’s absolutely starving, and he really could use a gigantic glass of water. 

But first, he needs dressed. The thin hospital gown is doing nothing. The cold air is hitting him so harsh that it feels like a literal freight train. He can see his clothes lying there on a chair, but he can barely move without hissing in pain.

The door to his room opens again, but it’s not Alfred. It’s Diana. She looks . . . well, she has looked better, that’s for sure. 

She gives him a little smile as she walks into the room, but Barry can see the hesitation in her eyes. 

Barry takes a deep breath. It’s not as awkward as he thought it would be, but that’s because it’s Diana. If it had been Bruce, or Clark, or even Victor, he doesn’t think he could have handled it. He only handled Arthur because he was half asleep and his head felt like elephants were taking a nap on it. 

“The others figured I’d be best to help you,” she says softly as she comes around the bed. 

Out of all of them, he has to agree. He wishes he was strong enough to dress himself but he needs Diana’s help to just move his legs over the side of the bed. 

“Stay here. Let me grab your clothes first.” 

She snatches the clothes off the chair. Briefly, Barry wonders how they got him his clothes, but a closer look shows the bits of article he used to leave lying around Bruce’s place from fights where he was too exhausted to go home. 

(Also, sidenote: it doesn’t surprise Barry at all that Bruce has his own hospital room inside his mansion. He’s Bruce, after all.)

Diana reaches for his nightgown but he pulls back, shaking his head. The thought of Diana seeing him naked again has him reeling. 

“I can do it myself, thanks.” 

The second he moves his arm out of the nightgown, he hisses in pain and lets out a low whine.

“Oh, Barry,” Diana sighs, moving her hand to grab hold of Barry’s shoulder. “Don’t be stubborn. I . . .” She seems to hesitates before bolding going on, “I’ve already seen you naked.” 

Barry shakes his head, because Diana doesn’t fucking get it. That was the point. “I wish you hadn’t.” 

He’s not expecting the tears that immediately spring to Diana’s eyes, or the way her hand loosens on his shoulder. “If that’s the way you feel, Barry,” she whispers. She doesn’t say anything else, but gently eases the rest of his nightgown off.

Barry squeezes his head shut. He doesn’t know if that’s how he really feels. These past weeks have just been a flurry of emotions and he hadn’t been able to get any of them straight. Yes, he wish he would have said no to Diana, but on the other hand he loves Diana and that night was great. 

He didn’t know what was wrong with him. He knew he might have been overdramatic by refusing to talk to any of his friends, but cutting them off without even talking to any of them, but he also knew they hurt him a lot. But it wasn’t their fault. He could had said no to any of them, couldn’t he?

And then he even went after Clark and Victor himself. 

So yeah, he doesn’t know how he’s feeling, so he doesn’t say anything when Diana helps him into his fuzzy blue sweater with the pug on it. He winces a bit when he realizes he’s not wearing any underwear, but Diana is all professional, won’t even look him in the eyes as she helps steps him into his boxers then joggers. 

When they’re all done, he wants to apologize to her, not just for what he just said, but for everything, for sleeping with her, for not saying no, for not knowing if he was overdramatic by cutting them all off or if he was justified to feel hurt, for not knowing how he feels about any of them anymore, but he doesn’t. 

“Come. Let’s get you some food.” 

Barry’s not ready to face his whole team all together, not ready for the awkwardness of dinner, because either they all talk it out and it’s awkward, or they all say nothing and it’s awkward. 

But he’s absolutely starving, and the smell coming from the dining room is giving him a head rush. He lets Diana drag him from the small hospital room into the hallway, then into the spacious dining room, where everyone else sans Alfred is gathered around the table, piles of food heaped in front of them. They’re all laughing, but they all quiet once they see him. 

“Barry,” Bruce breathes. 

You could cut the tension with a knife, Barry thinks, his gaze stuck to the floor. He mumbles out something even he can’t understand, and quickly sits down next to Victor. Diana takes her spot by Clark and Arthur pushes a plate in front of Barry. 

It’s really nothing special, upon closer inspection. It’s just meatloaf, mash potatoes, some gravy, some green beans, and some mac n cheese. But it’s Alfred and that dude can seriously cook, and Barry always loved his mac n cheese above everything else, and he can’t help the way his eyes light up when he notices it. 

He thinks he gets out a thanks, maybe not, but he’s already piling in the food. 

Cautiously, the others start to talk again. It’s mundane stuff, things like how Louis is doing, or Diana’s cat (he didn’t know she got a cat) or how Arthur’s handling the issue in his palace. 

He had missed so much in the few weeks he didn’t speak to any of them. That hurts, but he’s still not ready to talk to any of them, so he keeps shoveling food down. He’s done with his first plate before the others are even a quarter done with theirs. 

Arthur reaches to make Barry a second plate for him, but Barry snatches the mashed potato ladle out of his hand. “I can do it myself, you know.” He really didn’t mean to snap, but everyone goes silent anway. 

With a sigh, Arthur shakes his head. “I know you can.” 

“Well, obviously, you didn't.” Barry does snap this time, angrily slapping the potatoes down onto his plate and splattering the table space around him with drips of them.

“Okay, wow, I guess we’re doing this.” Clark shakes his head and turns towards Barry. Barry’s stomach drop because no, they aren’t doing this, he’s not ready to. “Barry-”

“Clark,” Diana interrupts, “maybe we shouldn’t-”

“If not now then when?” Victor demands, crossing his arms and glaring at Diana. 

Barry’s throat tightens once he realizes they were talking about him again. Don’t be overdramatic, he tells himself as white hot fury hits makes his stomach drop.

“We should wait,” Bruce tires to argue but Arthur shakes his head. 

“Enough waiting. It’s been weeks!” He turns to Barry and point his fork at him. “Kid, you fucked all of us.” Oh god, he can’t believe Arthur just said it.

“Must you be so crude,” Diana demands, narrowing her eyes at Arthur. “We need to tread lightly-”

“He isn’t a child,” Clark says calmly. 

Arthur snorts. “Damn right. I definitely wasn’t thinking he was a child with his dick in my mouth.”

The others all immediately shout their disgust, but Barry is just gripping his knife and fork and trying to breathe. He feels like he’s going to throw up but really, when does he not feel like that? Maybe it’s related to his anxiety . . . 

“-what, it’s the truth!” Arthur is arguing, only to have Bruce interrupt. 

“I just think-”

“We can’t just sit here and pretend nothing happened!” Victor slams his hands on the table, causing some drinks to spill over.

“But Barry needs time,” Diana says patiently, wiping up some water with a napkin. 

“Time to what?” Arthur rolls his eyes, finally dropping his fork. “We need to talk about this.” He turns back to Barry. “Look, if you regret sleeping with us all, that’s fine. What’s not fine is you not talking to us about and disappearing. Barry, you haven’t talked to us in weeks. Kid,-”

“Stop calling me that.” 

“Why? Because my dick was up your ass?”

Diana goes, “Arthur!” 

Victor says, “Bro, we really don’t need to know that.” 

Bruce flinches and says, “Arthur, we should use lighter language-”

Even Clark shakes his head.

“The point,” Arthur goes on, ignoring the rest of the league, “is that fact that you can’t just disappear on us. We were worried about you! Let’s just talk, Barry.”

Something within Barry is about snapped. It’s like a tidal wave, raving within him, ready to just burst through him. 

“Talk to us, Barry.” Diana reaches over and settles her hands on top of his, despite him clutching the fork. 

And then the waves bursts. 

“Talk?!” Barry throws the knife and fork down, startling everyone. He stands up, his chair tumbling to the ground. “You wanna talk? Fine, let’s do this, right here, right now!” He points to Bruce and the words that fall out of him sound alien, like he can’t believe he’s the one saying it. It’s like he’s not really Barry.

“You have issues. Serious issues that go beyond what the rest of us have. You miss your sons, you miss somebody to take care of, so you fucked me into the mattress under the guise of taking care of me. Like I’m something small that needs care!”

Bruce’s mouth hangs open like a fish, gulping and swallowing air as he stares up at Barry with nothing to say.

Barry turns to Diana. “And you knew I had a small crush on you. I do love you, but I’m not sure if I see you as some pseudo mother, or if I’m in love with you, and maybe you weren't sure either, maybe that’s why, I don’t know, but God Diana, do I wish we never had sex.” 

Diana looks like she’s going to cry again. She reaches for him but he easily avoids her advantages.

He turns to Arthur, feeling like he was going to completely burst into flames. “You- well actually I have nothing to say to you other than I think I’m in love with you.” 

“Woah, ki- Barry, I-”

Not the time, he thinks, his pulse a thousand beets per second. “Victor, what can I say other than it’s my fault? My complete and utter fault. I went after you because for some fucking reason, I thought I could make myself feel better if I slept with everyone. Three people is a coincidence, but if I just completed the circle, I could tell myself that it was just a thing, that it didn’t mean anything to anybody because I slept with everyone! And I’m sorry, okay? I’m so sorry, man.” 

He still feels like he’s on fire, like he’s going to pass out or burst into flames, maybe both. It’s like he can almost taste the air.

“And that’s the same with you, wasn't it?” Barry directs the question to Clark, who, unlike the others, just camly look up at him from his spot at the dining room table. “But what got me was that you told me everyone knew, you personally knew, and you still slept with me? I don’t understand, but it’s not like I said no, right?

“And that’s the fucking thing, isn’t it?” Barry angrily kicks Bruce’s chair across the room, watching as the wood splinters and breaks into a million little pieces. “I never fucking said no! I could have, but maybe that’s why I’m so mad at myself. Above everyone else, I hate myself! Because I have issues saying no, and I never did, fuck, I didn’t even want to say no and that’s why I hate myself so much, isn’t it?” 

And then it bursts. The tears come slowly, just a few random ones rolling down his cheek, before they break like a dam, and then the sobs come next. He’s vaguely aware of him sitting down on the floor and crying, sobbing, pressing his hands to his face to try to stop him from crying but it’s useless because they just keep coming. 

And the thing is, it was all the truth. Maybe he’s not really mad at the team, he thinks as he continues to sob loudly into the dining room. After everything, he thinks he’s just mad at himself. 

He could have said no. He never wanted to say no.

He hates himself. 

Somebody’s arms finally wrap around him, but he can’t tell who. It doesn’t matter. 

He hates himself. It’s a startling realization, one that makes him just clutch at the pair of arms around him and sob harder. 

It was all his fault, in the end. Yeah, some of them went after him first but he didn’t say no. And that’s why he really stopped talking to his friends, why he was so overdramatic. It wasn’t ever about them talking about him behind his back, was it? Yes, that stung a bit, but he was more mad about himself, wasn’t he? So embarrassed and unsure how to deal with the whole situation so he took it out on everyone else but him.

“We’ll get through this,” Clark says out loud, gently rocking Barry in his arms. “We’re so sorry. All of us, we’re so so sorry, Barry.” 

“Me, too,” Barry hiccups between the sobs. “I’m sorry, too.” 

“We know,” Clark assures him, pressing his hand against Barry’s back. “We know.” 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He keeps repeating it like a mantra and Clark keeps shhing him, telling him he doesn’t have to be sorry, but he does, he really does. 

Eventually, Clark helps him stand, and then he’s being pulled into the strong arms of Bruce, who wraps him in a hug himself, though it’s awkward because Clark is still gripping Barry’s arms. 

“I’m sorry.” Bruce drops the hug but keeps the eye contact. “I want you to know that. I’m sorry.” 

“I’m just tired.” Barry shakes his head and steps out of Clark’s arms to. “I’m just so tired.” And emotionally drained, and feeling like he could sleep for 70 years. 

“It’s been a long day.” Diana stands, pushing the now cold food away from her. “Why don’t we all retire?” 

It’s not even seven, but nobody protests. Barry doesn’t go back to the hospital room, but he doesn’t go to that room he was in that first night. Instead, Bruce directs him to a whole different floor entirely. There, he finds a room with nothing but an adjourning bathroom and a small cot. He wouldn’t even call this a bedroom, but the cot is soft enough, and he has no issues falling asleep. 

\-----

TWO MONTHS LATER

The bullet just misses him, which is actually impressive if he thinks about it, because he’s faster the speed of light. 

But Deadshot was, of course, a good shot, and at this point, Barry’s not surprised as they watch Deadshot climb the rest of the ladder and jump into the awaiting helicopter, which holds Croc, Quinn, and Poison Ivy.

With a heavy heart, Barry realizes they just lost. Again. He must look like he thinks it’s the end of the world, because Batman pats him on the back. 

“We’ll catch them,” he promises. “And now that we know for sure they’re recruiting their own league of some sort, we can keep an eye on the rest of the villains. We just have to find them first.”

It’s not exactly comforting, but it’s the best they got, so Barry nods and he and Bruce leave the shipping port and head back to the mansion. 

They’ll get them, Barry thinks. Eventually. 

Back at the mansion, Alfred already has some sort of curry ready for lunch, and he sees that Diana and Arthur had already began eating on the porch.

“Rude,” Barry tells them, sliding in between them at the picnic bench with his own delicious bowl. 

“You guys are thirty minutes past when you said you’d be back,” Arthur tells him, but he smiles and Barry knows there’s no real heat to it. 

“Deadshot got away,” Bruce informs, always the mood killer. “We think they’re going to be after Batgirl next, if they don’t already have her.” 

“Isn’t she, Quinn, and Ivy in some sort of like, polyamorous relationship?” Barry asks with a mouthful of food. Arthur rolls his eyes and wipes the curry that escaped off of Barry’s chin. It’s sweet and they share a small smile.

Bruce almost drops a glove into his own bowl of food. He had taken off his batman suit in the car, as he wears clothes underneath it, leaving only the gloves on. “That’s-that’s just a rumor! We-we don’t know-I highly doubt-”

Barry rolls his eyes and laughs. “Keep telling yourself that, Bruce.” He reaches for the salt shaked and pours an almost disgustingly amount into his bowl. “You just can’t handle the idea of your ex being in a threeway relationship with two other girls.”

“That’s not-” Bruce protests but it dies away and he shrinks in his chair. 

“By this point,” Diana adds, “I’d be shocked if the rumors weren’t true.” 

“Same here,” Barry agrees. 

Diana hums happily and he grins back at her. 

Things were better between them, which Barry’s insanely glad for. He really can’t describe how much he had missed his friends other than it felt like there was a hole in his heart, or that he was being held underwater and not being allowed to breathe.

Victor was off looking for some new recruit, some guy named Hal, who Bruce thinks could be a real asset to the team. Clark was at home with a newly pregnant Louis, getting the nursery ready for the baby. 

Barry will see them soon, but right now, he’s a bit focused on the way Arthur squeezes his hand and that familiar feeling of warmth that spreads over him. 

Things were still rocky, but they were better than before. Weekly meetings with the team appointed therapist really helps, and Barry thinks soon they’ll be better than ever. 

For now, he concentrates on the smile Arthur continues to give him, and the way Diana continues to tease Bruce about Batgirl and he thinks that actually, things are kind of perfect just the way they are.


End file.
